I went back to my office and the temporary secretary handed me ten messages. My God, how I missed my precious Maggie, but she would be back soon enough. Eight of the messages were from Nancy, and two were from the perfume company I was working with. A few famous actresses had expressed interest in representing the company. They were all hot and would be perfect for the campaign, but none of them as much as Nancy. I called the company back and told them I had one more potential candidate in mind and she was even better than the stars who had already been considered. I said I’d send pictures in the next day or two and that she would not disappoint. They had total faith in my judgment.
I called Nancy back and she asked where I had disappeared to.
“I was in a meeting.”
“With who, the bartender at the Smokehouse?”
I didn’t bother to reply, instead jumping to the more important issue. “I just told the perfume executives about you. They’re excited, so be ready to take some sexy photos tonight wearing my Armani sport coats you so love.”
It was her turn not to answer. She jumped right to the reason she had called eight times. “I can get out at four, so if you’re not too busy with any more meetings, we can drive to the library before the traffic gets totally crazy.”
Chapter Eighteen
I was outside her building a little before four, got out of the car to stretch my legs, and waited on the passenger side. Nancy came a few minutes later carrying an expensive leather Coach briefcase. I opened the door for her and she replied with a sexy, “Thank you kindly, sweet sir.”
I walked back to the driver’s side and climbed in, and, before I had time to close the door, she had her lips pressed tightly against mine, her tongue halfway down my throat, and her hands all over my body. I literally had to push her off of me. “What the hell is that about?”
“Just saying hello. Complaining, are you?”
I closed the door as she reached over and grabbed my erect penis.
“You keep it up, and we’ll never make it to the library.”
She pulled away, reached into her briefcase, and pulled out a spray bottle. “You disgusting pig!” With that she sprayed me in the face with something that smelled like urine.
“What the hell—?”
“Oh, don’t be such a baby. Just a little demonstration of the power of the product I’m working on.”
“What did you just spray in my face?”
“A drop of my urine mixed with water. Nothing that will do you any harm, not like the finished product.” She touched my penis again, which had understandably gone limp. “You see, it works.”
“Please tell me you’re joking.”
“I’m not joking. It’s not like you haven’t tasted my urine before. After all, how many times have you gone down on me?”
I felt sick as she sprayed some in her hand and exclaimed, “Wow! That does stink. What was in that salad I had for lunch?”
I got out of the car, walked into the building, and entered the first bathroom I saw. I washed my face over and over again but still couldn’t get rid of the smell. I finally gave up, went back to the car, and started driving.
“Don’t say another word!” I yelled as I started driving toward the library. The traffic on the freeway was terrible. Her idea that it would be any better because we left an hour earlier was insane. This was Los Angeles, for God’s sake, the only place on earth where you can run into heavy traffic at three in the morning on a five-lane freeway!
“Do you think your mom would like me if she was still alive?”
“What type of question is that after you just sprayed piss in my face?”
“Oh, get over it! I thought boys from the Bronx were supposed to be tough, not little crybabies. Now, back to the question … do you think your mother would like me?”
“Yeah, if you didn’t open your mouth, she would probably think you were the most beautiful woman she had ever seen, but once you did and started talking about your advanced theories on castration and building bombs of mass destruction, she might think you were insane.”
“How about if I stuck to the basics, like movies and music?”
“Then she would probably think you were perfect, but really, how long do you honestly think it would take you to change the subject?”
“When you were sitting back there on the park benches in the Bronx, did you dream about a girl like me?”
“How could I possibly dream about a girl like you without her last name being Da Vinci or Einstein?”
“Oh, that’s sweet. Thank you, Joe. So tell me, if you were a girl and your mother found out your father was raping you, what would she do?”
“That would never happen.”
“I know, but just pretend it did. What would your mother do?”
“She would gut the son of a bitch!”
“That’s what I thought.”
“Did you really cut off your father’s penis?”
“Yes. You know I don’t lie.”
“Then I don’t understand how it was ruled a suicide. Who the fuck cuts off his dick to commit suicide?”
“I told the police what he had been doing to me and they totally believed it. Besides, they both had major crushes on me.”
“Don’t tell me, you screwed both of them?”
“Yeah, I did. The younger one was really good. He was the first one to make me come without the help of an inanimate object.”
“Of course he was.”
“Who was the first girl you had sex with, or was that me?”
“Very cute, Nancy.”
“It’s nothing to be ashamed of. If nothing else, that would explain a lot.”
“You know, Nancy, where I come from you don’t advertise to the world every girl you’ve been with.”
“That’s funny, because you don’t have any problem advertising everything else.”
“Keep it up, and you just might find your cute little ass on the side of the road.”
“Like I would have a problem getting a ride. I could put my thumb up and in less than a minute I’d have cars lining up to take me anywhere I want to go.”
“Yeah, but you might not get so lucky. The guy you choose might not be a gentleman. Your spray of piss just might turn him on.”
“So what size family are we looking at?”
“Why are you asking me? Shouldn’t you be asking the young cop that question? Surely, you want to be married to a man who can satisfy you at that magical moment of conception.”
“He’s married. I would never break up a family.”
“But you had no problem fucking him behind his wife’s back. That’s real class, Nancy.”
“I owed him.”
“So you’re telling me you’re no better than a hooker?”
“Stop it! Don’t blame me for your shortcomings. It’s not like I get anything out of the deal. I gave you an honest assessment.”
“And I just gave you an honest assessment.”
“Bullshit. You make a fortune telling lies. If deep down you really thought I was a hooker, you wouldn’t have me live with you.”
“It’s temporary, remember? And why all the maternal urges?”
“I don’t have any desire to get pregnant, but I know you wops are all about having children. I thought it would be nice to give you at least one child.”
“Wow! That is so thoughtful and unselfish of you.”
“Don’t be sarcastic. It only makes you sound dumber than you are.”
An hour and twenty minutes later, after driving a total of seven miles, we finally arrived at the library. The only good thing was that it was easy to park because all the people leaving work couldn’t wait to get the hell out of this part of town. After dark, downtown Los Angeles became a refuge for gangs, drug addicts, and the homeless; no upstanding citizens wanted to be around that crowd.
The library was a tremendous structure; naturally, Nancy took us to a section that had probably not seen a visitor since it opened. I grabbed a cart a
nd Nancy started placing huge reference books in it. She had me roll the cart next to a photocopier then sat down at a table next to the cart. I sat down and watched as she opened a book with gruesome pictures of experiments done on Jews in the concentration camps during World War II. She seemed to view the pictures with little interest and started reading attentively. I got up from my chair and decided to get a normal book to read, but before I got a few feet away she called me back. “Can you please copy these pages I marked?” She pushed the book toward me and I replied, “How about a little money? It costs money to make copies.”
She looked at me with disdain. “I thought the pleasure of my company would be enough to cover the price of a few copies.”
“You thought wrong.”
She reached into her briefcase and took out her wallet. She poured out all the money it contained onto the table. It came to a little over two dollars. “Seriously, that’s all the money you have?”
“Sorry, I don’t make millions peddling toxins to the downtrodden.”
“Drop it, Nancy! How much was that briefcase you’re walking around with? About five hundred?”
“It was a gift.”
“Of course, for services rendered?”
“You pig!”
“Oh please, stop it. You’re selling your greatest asset. I get that. It’s smart.”
She looked at me for a long moment. “Can you please make me those copies?”
I picked up the two dollars and change and put it in my pocket. I took the book and walked over to the machine. Hurting Nancy was never my intention. Other guys would argue that she deserved a lot worse, but no one else knew her backstory like I did.
Before we were done I had spent over $120 on copies. There had to be more than 1000 pages beside Nancy on the table, and she was beginning to show signs of being upset. The subject matter, the disturbing pictures, and the idea of treating innocent people like lab rats had reawakened the most beautiful thing about Nancy: her unyielding moral compass.
Once in the car, Nancy was unusually quiet as she stared out the passenger window. I decided that the best course of action was to be quiet. It wasn’t until we got off the freeway and onto Ventura Boulevard that she said, “It is hard to imagine that one group of people could so dehumanize another simply because of their ethnic and religious background.” I reached over and took Nancy’s trembling hand. She gripped my hand tightly.
I pulled into the driveway and parked. Nancy left the copies in the car. She said she was too tired to do any more research. We walked into the living room and Nancy flopped down on the couch. She asked me to put on some of Frank Sinatra’s old, barroom ballads. When Nancy was depressed, she liked to listen to music that complemented her mood. Sinatra fit all the requirements — the great, unmatched voice, his impeccable timing, and the genuine emotion he put into every word of a song.
I went into the kitchen and poured two large glasses of white wine. When I went back to the living room a minute later, Nancy was out cold. I sat down with the wine and couldn’t help wondering if her dreams were actually nightmares; she was so beautiful and brilliant, yet she was clearly haunted by demons I could not imagine.
She found my occupation offensive yet had no problem taking money from me. She was great at her job. Maybe her occupation was a form of sublimation, a desire to correct her own imperfections, a way to address her childhood abuse. At that moment, with Sinatra singing in the background, I pitied the innocent, wounded child across from me. I finished off the wine, put a blanket over Nancy, and went into my bedroom to sleep.
At about three in the morning, Nancy got into bed and nudged me just enough to wake me. “Sorry I fell asleep. I promised you I’d pose for some pictures. Maybe in the morning, before work.”
“It’s okay. I would never make you do anything that made you feel uncomfortable. I love you.”
I could see tears glow in her eyes.
“I could probably use the money,” she chokingly replied.
“I can give you money. Stay true to yourself.”
She kissed me sweetly and lay her head on my chest. I could feel her tears soak through my T-shirt and rattle the inner sanctum of my soul.
Chapter Nineteen
I could hear Nancy in the shower when I got up the next morning. I got out of bed and gathered all the trash around the house. I took it out back, opened the trashcan, and saw that Nancy had thrown away all the copies of the Nazi experiments. I dumped the trash on top of the copies and put the cover back on.
I walked back into the house as Nancy came out of the bedroom. Her hair was tied back really tight. I had never seen it like that and must have looked a little puzzled at first.
“You don’t like it?”
“Just the opposite; you look gorgeous.”
“Thank you! I’m going to get paid this week and I’ll do my best to try and save a portion.”
I didn’t know what to say, so I remained quiet as she continued. “And for the record, I did not screw anyone for my Coach briefcase, and there are not now, nor will there ever be, any pending services.”
I wasn’t exactly sure what was going on, so I still didn’t say anything. “I am going to try my hardest to make this work, Joe. I know how much you love me, and last night confirmed that.”
She had thrown a number of curveballs my way in the time I’d known her, but this was an unhittable Bert Blyleven curveball. Our relationship was undoubtedly dysfunctional, but it seemed to work for both of us. I loved Nancy and wanted to believe that she loved me, but there were quite a few unresolved issues.
I looked at her and simply said, “That sounds great.”
I took a shower and allowed the cold water to splash my face. It didn’t help, so I turned the water to a more comfortable temperature.
Chapter Twenty
On the ride to work the next day, Nancy told me she was working on some ideas for that night and would tell me more at lunch. I stopped the car in front of the main entrance to her building, and she reached over and kissed me deeply, passionately. “That’s to keep you happy until lunch.” She got out of the car, closed the door, and looked back one last time to blow me a kiss. I drove off and went to my office. The temporary secretary asked if I would like some coffee.
“I need something a lot stronger than coffee, but thanks.” I entered my office and looked at my bottle of Johnnie Walker Black. I was tempted but thought better of it. It was important to keep a clear head. Nancy was acting dangerously normal, and that was more worrisome than her acting dangerously insane.
I looked through the pictures the perfume company had sent over. The actresses and models were all good choices, but Nancy would have put them all to shame. A golden opportunity, but she had refused to bite and I respected her wishes.
I arrived at Mo’s Restaurant fifteen minutes early again, but instead of a Bloody Mary I ordered an iced tea. Nancy walked in shortly after me and also ordered an iced tea. “No Bloody Mary this afternoon?”
“No, trying to cut back.”
“Good! I don’t want to be married to an alcoholic.”
She took out a piece of paper and handed it to me. It was a list of Ingrid Bergman movies. “I remember you telling me you had a major crush on her, and since she’s no threat to me I thought we could have an Ingrid festival the rest of this week. We can start tonight with Gaslight and Notorious, if you like.”
“That would be great!”
“Good, I thought you might like it. I’m also going to try cooking tonight. Tell me your favorite dish and I’ll make it for you.”
I almost choked on an ice cube as I scrambled for an answer. “I was actually thinking Chinese for tonight. We can order in.”
“Okay, maybe tomorrow night.”
“Wednesday night is always pizza. You know that.”
“Okay, then Thursday.”
The waiter came over and asked if we were ready to order. “I would like the walnut salad please, but leave out the asparagus. I had it yester
day and my piss smelled something awful.” She pointed at me. “You can ask him. He smelled it.” I dropped my head in embarrassment. Without looking up, I ordered a double cheeseburger with fries.
Once he walked away, I asked, “Was it really necessary to tell the waiter about the smell of your urine?”
“What’s the big deal? It’s just pee. Weren’t you in the Boy Scouts?”
“No!”
“Really, that explains a lot.” She put her hand under her chin like she was examining her latest specimen.
“The great outdoors was right outside our house in the Bronx.”
“Really, I didn’t know you lived by the Bronx Zoo.”
“I didn’t.”
“Oh, I get it. You’re trying to equate the Bronx with the Wild West. Not a very good analogy, Joe. I know for a fact that you come from an Italian-infested area of the Bronx where the crime rate was zero.”
“And don’t you think I ever went outside that safe zone?”
“I don’t know, Joseph, did you?”
“Please don’t call me Joseph. You know I don’t like to be called that.”
She ran her hand through my hair. “Has anyone ever told you that you look like Marcello Mastroianni?”
“No one, not ever.”
“That’s probably because no one you know has ever seen a Fellini movie. I find him incredibly sexy.”
“That’s great! Maybe after we’re finished with the Ingrid festival, we can start a Marcello festival?”
She whispered, “That would assure you of getting laid at least twice a night, if not three times. You think you’re up for that?”
I walked Nancy back to work and just before we got to the door of her building I hugged her tightly, taking her by surprise, and told her how much I loved her and appreciated the effort she was putting into our relationship. She walked into the building, turned, and blew me a kiss. I smiled and waved, turned, and walked quickly to the Smokehouse to talk to Fernando.
Before I even took my place at the half-empty bar, Fernando had a cold Budweiser waiting for me. When he got a moment, we talked about Nancy. He had met her on previous occasions and remembered her instantly. He said, “To honor such beauty, to love such a magnificent woman, meant one of two things for the unlucky suitor: one, a large withdrawal from his bank account; or two, the relinquishing of his soul.” Fernando, like so many other bartenders, was a true philosopher.
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