by Jason Starr
“How’s it going, sweetie?” she asked.
There was silence at first, and then Diane said, “This is so messed up.”
“Are you in Turks and Caicos?” Olivia asked.
“No, I’m in my living room,” Diane said.
“Why? What happened?”
“I was all packed and ready to go when I got a text from Steve saying, ‘Sorry, it’s not working for me, good luck with everything.’ I couldn’t believe it. I thought it had to be some kind of joke. You know how Steve is, how his sense of humor misfires sometimes. It could’ve been a joke. So I called him back and got his voice mail and left a message. He didn’t call back and I was like, what the hell? So I texted him a couple of times, and then he calls me and tells me it’s over. That’s it, no explanation, just good-bye, have a good life.”
“Ugh, I’m so sorry.”
“I have the flight, the hotel booked on my credit card. I can try to cancel part of it, but it’s still gonna cost me money. Can you believe him? I mean, what a prick.”
“There’s nothing you can—”
“You should’ve heard him, telling me all this crap, just two days ago. He was like ‘I’m so into you,’‘I can see spending the rest of my life with you,’ ‘You’re perfect for me.’ I mean, he was shoveling it on. And I’m usually so cautious about falling for that crap because I’ve been burned so many times before, but I finally gave in and opened up to him because I believed that one time, just one time, I’d met an honest, sincere, normal guy in Manhattan. And then this text message arrives.”
“I’m so sorry, honey,” Olivia said.
She gave Diane all the usual clichés like “He’s just one guy” and “You have to get back on the horse,” but Diane seemed to be taking it hard. Then Olivia had a brainstorm and asked, “What’re you doing tonight?”
“Posting crap on Steve’s Facebook page.”
“Meet me at XR Bar on Houston and Sullivan,” Olivia said.
“Are you kidding?” Diane said. “I look like hell right now.”
“You have two hours to de-hell yourself.”
“I really don’t—”
“See you there.”
Olivia ended the call and connected to Michael.
He said, “You’re calling me.”
“I missed you,” Olivia said. “Did you miss me?”
“No,” he said.
Expected, but it was crazy how his coldness turned her on every time.
“I was just wondering what you thought about going out tonight with a friend of mine. Just drinks and maybe a quick dinner and then—”
“I want to have sex with you tonight,” he said.
“We will have sex, but my friend Diane needs some company.”
Olivia explained the situation and where she was meeting up with Diane. Then Michael said, “Your friend needs sex tonight too.”
Thinking he was suggesting a threesome, Olivia said, “She’s not that type of—”
Michael cut her off with, “I have a friend who’ll have sex with her. I’ll bring him with me.”
“Oh,” Olivia said. “That would be amazing. But I don’t think she’s the type to—”
Michael ended the call.
Olivia was going to call him back, but before the call connected she clicked off. Diane needed company, and Olivia wanted to see if she and Michael could do something together that didn’t involve getting naked. Since meeting at the restaurant that night she hadn’t even seen him outside his apartment or, for that matter, in the light of day. She was beginning to wonder if he was some kind of vampire or something.
Olivia cut out from work early and got dressed, casual/sexy—a short black skirt, a low-cut top, and the Anne Klein black patent leather tall boots she’d bought last month but hadn’t worn yet. She always had high self-esteem, but she modeled in front of the full-length mirror and thought she looked damn sexy. She even said out loud, “I am damn sexy.”
Olivia exited the cab in front of the bar on Houston Street at the same time Diane was arriving. The place didn’t get active until much later on, and it was nearly empty. They ordered Vodka Collinses. Then Olivia checked the time on her cell phone and said, “I wonder where the guys are.”
“Guys?”
Olivia hadn’t told Diane about the double date.
Diane, suddenly catching on, suddenly angry, got up, saying, “I can’t believe you did this. This is the last thing I need right now.”
“I just wanted you to meet Michael, and his friend’s single. How do you know he’s not a great guy?”
“There are no great guys, don’t you get it?”
Diane headed toward the door and Olivia went after her; they stopped at the same time as they saw Michael and an extremely attractive Latino enter. They were both in black—Michael in a black turtleneck and black chinos, and the Latino guy in very tight black jeans and a black blazer. The blazer was open and underneath he had a black shirt with embroidered stitching and the top four or five buttons open, exposing most of his hairy chest and a gold chain. On practically any other guy in the world, the look would have shouted sleazeball, but somehow this guy was able to pull it off. Well, at least Olivia thought so. Diane seemed somewhat horrified.
“Say hello to Ramon,” Michael said.
Ramon locked gazes with Olivia and said, “You are simply stunning.”
“Thank you,” Olivia said, getting a vibe similar to when she’d met Michael for the first time. He had a raw, unrestrained masculinity that was so damn refreshing.
Ramon took her hand and kissed it, still gazing at her eyes.
“She’s my lover,” Michael said.
Wow,was Michael actually jealous? Olivia couldn’t help feeling flattered.
“Oh, I apologize,” Ramon said to Olivia. Then he turned to Diane and with the same enraptured look said, “You look simply stunning this evening.”
Again, with any other guy, this routine would have come off as laughable, even pathetic, but somehow he made it seem sincere.
“I am Ramon,” he said, of course rolling the R with his tongue.
Diane—maybe mesmerized, maybe horrified—said hesitantly, “I’m Diane.”
“Come with me,” Ramon, who hadn’t let go of Diane’s hand, said, and then he led her toward the back of the bar.
Diane looked back, and though she didn’t say a word, Olivia could tell she was thinking, I’m going to kill you for this.
Michael sat next to Olivia at the bar, and when the bartender came over he said, “Bring me a glass of water, no ice.”
“Yes, sir,” the bartender, a short tattooed woman, said sarcastically, but Michael didn’t seem to pick up on it—or if he did, he didn’t seem to care.
Olivia looked toward the back, where Ramon was seated on a sunkin sofa, sitting very close to Diane, still holding her hand. He seemed to be doing all the talking.
“She’s not a happy camper,” Olivia said.
“You like Ramon,” Michael said.
“Oh, I think he’s sexy as hell,” Olivia said. “Not as sexy as you, of course, sweetie.” She kissed him, then noticed the very noticeable bulge in his jeans. “Umm, you might want to do something about that.”
“I want to have sex,” he said. “I don’t hide my emotions.”
“So do I, sweetie, but we’re in a public place right now.”
“Only humans hide their emotions.”
“And what? You’re not human?”
He didn’t answer.
Olivia said, “Seriously. Do we have to do this all the time?”
“We’ve never been to this bar before,” Michael said.
“No, I mean this,” Olivia said. “This role playing or whatever you want to call it.”
“You want me to lie.”
“No, I want you to stop lying. Can’t we take a break from the game for one night? Or at least while we’re here?”
“I don’t play games,” Michael said.
“Fine, whatever,” Olivia
said. “I mean, if this is what it takes to get you going, I’m game. I mean, I’ll keep playing the game.”
They sat silently, sipping their drinks. Olivia was waiting for Michael to initiate conversation, but staring at maybe himself in the mirror behind the bar, he didn’t say a word. He just sat there, sipping his water, and he still had a hard-on. Five, then ten minutes went by, and he didn’t break character, as if it were perfectly normal to go out with a woman to a bar and say absolutely nothing. She was amazed how much discipline he had. Was he some kind of method actor or something? If he wasn’t, he was missing out on a great career.
Ramon was leading Diane by the hand back toward the front of the bar.
Diane motioned with her eyes for Olivia to come over to her.
“Uh-oh, here we go,” Olivia said.
Olivia went over to Diane while Ramon waited near the door.
Beating her to the punch, Olivia said, “Okay, I’m sorry, I owe you one, okay?”
“I’m going home with him,” Diane said.
Olivia noticed something different about Diane; she was practically glowing. It was hard to believe this was the same heartbroken woman who’d arrived at the bar less than half an hour ago.
“Are you serious?” Olivia said. “I thought you were—”
“What can I say?” Diane said. “You were right and I was wrong. Some guys are charming and you see right through it, but this guy is so genuinely charming. It’s like he jumped out of a romance novel. All that’s missing is the white horse.”
“I agree with you . . . obviously,” Olivia said. “But as your friend I have to remind you, you’re vulnerable right now. I mean, you and Steve just—”
“Oh, who cares about stupid Steve,” Diane said. “I mean, I should’ve blown him off when he showed me a picture of his Porsche on the first date.” She looked toward Ramon and smiled, then said to Olivia, “He wants me to go home with him and see his roof deck.”
Diane returned to Ramon, who said, “I’m sorry if I was staring at you. But your beauty, it’s simply mesmerizing.”
The way Ramon was admiring Diane—longingly, with restrained passion—even made Olivia breathless.
Ramon and Diane linked arms and left the bar and went off into the night.
“Wow, I think I’ve officially seen everything,” Olivia said. Then, suddenly horny herself, she said to Michael, “So should we head back to your place?”
“I have work to do tonight,” Michael said.
“Tonight?” Olivia couldn’t hide her disappointment. “You’re getting me jealous. What are you going to do, go kill somebody?”
“Yes,” Michael said.
It was amazing the way he never broke character.
“Really?” she said flirtatiously. “Can I come along?”
“You won’t understand.”
“Oh, will you stop with that already? Don’t you get it yet? I’m not like other women in this city.”
“You only want to share experiences with me because you don’t know what I am. Once you see what I am, you’ll hate me.”
Wondering why he kept saying what instead of who, she asked, “Why won’t you just let me in?”
“If I let you in, you won’t be able to ever go back,” he said. “You understand that.” Not asking; telling her.
“Yes, I understand that,” she said.
After a long icy glare—how did he do that without breaking character?—he walked away. She thought he was leaving, ditching her, and then he turned back and said, “Come with me.”
She caught up and said, “Where are we going?”
He didn’t answer, and she thought, What the hell? She was along for the ride, so she might as well enjoy it.
He turned onto Sullivan Street and went past Bleecker, all the way to Washington Square Park, then went back downtown on Thompson to Houston, and then went back uptown on another street. He didn’t look at her the whole time and maintained a serious, determined, intensely focused expression. They continued zigzagging along the streets of the West Village for maybe another twenty minutes when he finally stopped in front of a parked car, an old Honda, and started fiddling with the lock. Was that what he was doing all this time, looking for his car? Then she realized he wasn’t opening the lock, he was picking it, or appeared to be anyway. She reminded herself that none of this was real, that it was all part of a game—a game that was getting weirder and weirder.
He finally got the door open. Then he opened the passenger door and said, “Get in.”
So now he was pretending what, he was a car thief? Whatever, she thought as she sat down.
The way they were heading, she thought they were going back to his place in Tribeca, but then he turned onto Canal and entered the Holland Tunnel.
“Where are we going?” she asked.
“We’ll be there soon,” he said.
She was quiet till they exited in New Jersey and got on I-78. Then she decided she didn’t see why she couldn’t ask the questions, even if he refused to answer them.
“So,” she said, “someone hired you to do this job?”
“No, this one’s a favor for a friend.”
“Well, that’s nice of you,” Olivia said. “I can’t get my friends to water my plants when I go on vacation, but you’ll kill for yours. Wow, what a mensch.”
Michael didn’t smile, of course, but Olivia was cracking herself up.
“So my dangerous, scary, car-thieving hit man,” Olivia continued. “Why did you decide to go into a life of crime?”
“Because I enjoy killing people,” he said. “I would kill for free and I have killed for free. But if people will pay me to kill, it’s even better.”
“Aren’t you worried about going to jail? I mean, I don’t know if you’re aware of this, but mass murder is against the law.” Olivia was having fun egging him on.
“My father wanted me to run the brewery,” he said. “But I didn’t want to work for Hartman Beer, and I didn’t want to work for my father.”
“Wait, Hartman Beer,” Olivia said. “That sounds familiar. I think we used to drink that when I was in college in Syracuse. . . . But we used to have a nickname for it.”
“Fartman.”
“Ha, that’s right.” She laughed. “But I didn’t think it was that bad. I actually thought it was pretty good.”
“You’re lying.”
“You’re right, I’m lying.”
Olivia was enjoying the banter; for once she and Michael were interacting like a normal couple.
The feeling didn’t last for long.
A ten-minute period of silence reminded her that she was still just a participant in some weird game and she had no idea what the rules were.
“So,” Olivia asked. “Why didn’t you want to be in the beer business?”
“I have anger,” Michael said. He was silent for a while, and she thought he was through. Then he said, “Anger is beautiful. Many people reject anger; they hide from it, they punish people for it. But why punish people for something that’s natural? Do we punish people for eating? For breathing? Then why for killing? All animals kill. But do animals regret killing? Do they mourn their victims? No, animals accept their anger, they accept their rage. Humans can experience this bliss too if they merely accept their natural animal state. For me, being a hit man is the perfect way to express my natural anger.”
Olivia absorbed all of this, trying to maintain a serious, interested expression, as if she were on a date with a normal guy—say a lawyer—and he was telling her about his job, but meanwhile she was thinking, Wow, this guy’s train has officially left the station. A voice coming from somewhere inside her was telling her to get out now, while she still had a chance, but as usual the voice was faint and she was barely paying attention to it.
He continued through a part of New Jersey Olivia had never been to before. For all she knew Michael was going to drive across the entire country. It concerned her that she wasn’t at all concerned about any of this.
But he wasn’t going across the country, at least not without making a pit stop in Bernardsville, New Jersey, first.
He pulled over and took a piece of paper from out of his pocket— presumably directions. The light was dim in the car; she couldn’t understand how he could possibly read the paper. After examining it for several seconds, he continued to drive. She didn’t bother to ask where they were going because she knew he wouldn’t tell her.
They made a few turns and wound up on an upscale suburban block. Then he cut the headlights and they were suddenly in pitch-darkness.
Her heart rate accelerated. She asked, “What the hell are you doing?”
He continued at the same speed, then made a sharp turn. Olivia couldn’t see a thing, and she reached out in front of her, grabbing the dashboard, bracing herself for an imminent crash.
“Are you out of your mind?!” she screamed. “Stop the car! Pull over right now!”
“Stop yelling or I’ll have to kill you,” Michael said.
There was steel in his voice, and if she hadn’t known that none of this was real she would have been terrified. Instead, she was just pissed off.
She said, “Oh, can you stop with your ridiculousness already and talk to me like a normal person? And will you turn the headlights back on, for God’s sake?”
He didn’t stop, making another sharp turn. Olivia’s eyes were adjusting to the darkness—there was some light from inside houses, but not much. She could make out the road, at least part of it, so although the headlightless drive was still scary, it wasn’t totally terrifying.
Then he slowed, pulled up to the curb, and cut the engine. There were no houses in the immediate area, so now Olivia couldn’t see at all. But she heard Michael fiddling with something; she didn’t know what it was. It sounded like it was something hard, maybe metallic. Then she remembered the holster, how he’d claimed he was a hit man.
Her pulse pounding again, she asked, “What are you doing?”
More fiddling. She thought, what if she was wrong? What if this wasn’t a game? What if all of this was real?
“Wait here,” he said.
He got out of the car and walked away—it seemed like he was crossing the street, but he disappeared in the darkness and it was impossible to tell where exactly he was heading.