Liar.
Sean had been finishing his second cigarette out behind the rectory. I watched him inhale his nicotine lunch. He watched me put away my Kraft American Singles cheese sandwich.
“Cigarettes are expensive, Fi. Gotta savor each one to the end. A cigarette is a terrible thing to waste.”
“Sean, you stole those from your dad.”
“Well, he had to pay good money for them. Besides, I’m doing the old man a favor. I’m saving him from early lung cancer.”
It worked. Sean saved his father from lung cancer. Too bad Sean didn’t drink the old man’s liquor for him too.
Always thinking of others, Sean was.
“HI, FI. READY FOR a night out with your old buddy?”
Sean opened the door dressed in nothing but smooth skin and a flamingo pink feather boa looped around his neck. He had asked me to meet him at his apartment on Russian Hill before heading out for an evening of bar hopping with him in the City the weekend following my tragic date with Freddie. When I asked him why, he said, “Because I have something to show you.”
Cobain’s voice floated out from Sean’s apartment. Another thing we had in common. Nirvana on Repeat One.
Come
As you are
As you were
“God, Sean. I think I’m too dressed for where you have in mind. Is this what you wanted to show me?”
I had donned a ruffled black DG top with skinny Chloe jeans and maroon patent leather Dior stilettos. Bar clothes.
“Cool shoes, Fi. Nah, that’s still inside. But I decided to torture you today,” Sean said, fingering his feather boa dangerously.
“How so?”
“By denying you the pleasure of tearing my clothes off.”
“Oh, you sadist. You hurt me so.”
As I want you to be
“So you going to come in or what, Fi? No worries, I’m not going to rape you.”
I rolled my eyes, wondering what Sean’s neighbors thought of him. A hymen restoration surgeon with a penchant for feather boas.
“You put that away! Or I’m gonna call the cops, young man!” an undead version of Estelle Getty in a flower tea dress screamed. She must have been watching from the peephole of her apartment, across from Sean’s. His attire had prompted her to step out into the hall and butt into our lives.
“Go back to your solitaire game, Betty. Or I’ll call the mobile mental health unit and treat you to a night in General’s psych ward,” snapped Sean.
He pulled me into his apartment and slammed the door. I heard Betty gasp.
“She hasn’t seen a naked man in decades, Sean. You could’ve given her a heart attack. Then you would’ve had to do CPR on her.”
“Nah, last rites would be more appropriate for her condition. Too old. So you want some wine, beer, anything, Fi?”
“Water’s good, seeing that we’re planning to go out drinking all night.”
Sean got me a glass of water.
“Ooh, Wedgwood. Nice, Sean. Where did you get that boa?”
“Thank you. Halloween. A few years back. So tell me. This... does nothing for you?” Sean started thrusting his naked hips at me, laughing and watching my expression.
“Nice penis. But nope, afraid not.”
As a friend
As a friend
“Then why do you dress like that, Fi?” Sean scrutinized my outfit, zeroing in on my Dior stilettos.
“Because I don’t think they’d let me in if I was wearing a Hefty garbage bag and Kleenex boxes for shoes.”
“Good point. I wouldn’t walk next to you if you were.”
“See? Clothes aren’t just to attract men. That and I can really hurt a man with these heels.” I laughed. “Want me to kick you in the tailpipe with these?”
“Christ, Fi. No thanks. Geez, zero libido. Unbelievable. How else can you say no to this?”
“Are you trying to tempt me or something?”
“Duh. Fi, I’m naked and making obscene gestures at you. Hey, just so you know, I may hold my knife and fork like a hymen surgeon, but I can fuck like a tree surgeon.” Sean continued to thrust his hips at me, laughing. Then he finished with some hip circles.
As a known memory
“Save it for the trees then, Sean. Just put some clothes on and let’s go.”
“Suit yourself. Your loss.”
He sauntered off to his bedroom and closed the door behind him. But not before giving himself a hard slap on his behind. He must have suffered a sudden burst of modesty.
I had been half in love with Sean since that day he talked me into clobbering Jeremy. Half in love.
I had been half in fear with Sean since that day he lit Stephanie’s head of fire and walked away without looking back.
Like with Hank’s giant Argentine boa constrictor, George.
Hank used to be our next door neighbor. Sometimes after school, I would go over to watch Hank feed George. When Hank dropped in scurrying white mice, George would stir to life, pulling its massive thick body into movement.
One day, George perked up and looked directly at me, ignoring the mouse that Hank was dangling. It slid its nose against the glass, stared into my eyes, and jerked its head at me twice. There was an instant connection, an interspecies bond. Fascinated, I felt special, lucky, honored to be noticed by the snake. Unique, like Harry Potter.
I fell half in love.
George’s diet included a wide variety of mammals, including birds, larger lizards, ocelots, and eventually Hank. One evening, Hank fell asleep on the couch with the snake tank open. George strangled him. Then it tried to swallow him whole, but Hank was too big around the shoulders. And George refused to let go. So it suffocated.
I fell half in fear.
Hank and George needed that separation of glass and steel to survive in the same space. That protective barrier between the species kept disaster at bay.
Like me and Sean.
Sleeping with him would be like curling up with George. Bad idea.
“And oh, check out my new toy in the other room, Fi.”
Sean poked his head out and jerked it towards the right.
Take your time
Hurry up
The expensive, sleek teak furniture screamed Ethan Allen. Heavy, frosted glass coffee table with black wooden legs. Black leather sofa set. Hip, modern, chic.
But not the black and white photos of defecating zoo animals in glass box frames. Those said Sean. His statement on wall art.
And the large punching bag shaped like a giant baby hanging from the ceiling and anchored to the floor with a metal chain. I punched its swollen belly and it wailed like a cholericly newborn, sounding more and more like a stuck pig.
Sean came out clad in Dolce Gabbana from head to toe, swinging an Armani leather jacket.
“Do you like it?”
“Sean, shut it up! What the hell is that?”
Sean picked up a baseball bat that was leaning against the wall corner. He swung at the bawling baby. Hard. Harder. Until the noise stopped.
“My new toy. It’s very therapeutic. Helps me deal with any aggression I have. You have to hit it until it stops screaming. Like it?”
“Where can I get one? I need one for my office.”
Sean laughed. “Great, isn’t it? A must-have for new parents. Would cut down on instances of child abuse.”
Always thinking of others.
“Come on, Fi. Haven’t got all night.” As if I was the one holding him up.
Don’t be late
Take a rest
As a friend
SEAN AND I WENT TO the Oak Room at the Clift Hotel. Ritzy bar scene where the people in the paintings on the wall followed you with their eyes. Drinks were fifteen dollars a pop. No sawdust on the floor. Bellinis, Cosmos, Brandy Alexanders clasped by fingers clad in Tiffany and David Yurman rings. Overpriced drinks. Overpriced trinkets.
“See? Kleenex shoes would never have gotten us in here, Sean.”
“No crap, Fi.” S
ean removed his Armani leather jacket and hung it carefully on the back of his chair. “What do you want?”
“Bellini. What are you having?”
“Bloody Mary.” Sean grinned and winked at me before heading to the bar.
Sean came back with our drinks. He pulled out the celery stick, sucked it clean, and bit off the end. He took a sip of his Bloody Mary, studying a small group of blondes clustered around the end of the bar.
“Pick one for me, Fi.”
“What are you talking about? This Bellini is awesome by the way. The hives will be worth it.”
“What? What hives?”
“Oh, champagne gives me hives.”
“Then why are drinking that, Fi?”
“Because it’s yummy, Sean. Yuuuummy.”
Sean laughed. Sean nodded at the blondes again. “Pick one for me.”
“What do you mean ‘pick one’?”
“I mean pick one... for me.”
“Oh I see. You are going to hit on a girl and leave me here all by my lonesome. Didn’t know you liked blondes.”
“I don’t. Pick one. One you like the least.” Sean winked.
I studied them, naming them after their drinks. You are what you drink.
Cosmo. The tallest blonde kept glancing over her shoulder at Sean, pretending to look around the room. Long, straight hair with expensive highlights. Model face. Leopard print spaghetti-strap cocktail dress. Small gardenia behind her ear. Big, acrylic French manicured nails. Louboutin stilettos. Silver Tiffany round tag charm bracelet with matching necklace.
Melonball. Cosmo’s shorter companion chatted away, stirring her milky green drink every so often. She had on a paisley silk cocktail dress that was one size too small for her. Her breasts jiggled every time she waved her hand around. A hand with a large Tiffany mesh ring on the fourth finger. Prada open-toed stilettos. Silver Tiffany round tag charm bracelet without a matching necklace.
White Russian. The third blonde sat on the bar stool, nodding at Melonball’s monologue. Hair pulled back into a chignon. Slinky black dress. Beaded Manolo Blahnik evening sandals. Silver Tiffany round tag charm bracelet without a matching necklace.
“Sean, they all look the same to me.”
“Pick one,” he said, without looking at me.
“Miss Cosmo.”
“Why that one?”
“I covet her shoes. Red soles. Good luck in Chinese culture. I want her to win the lottery. That and she’s so pretty.” Too pretty.
Sean smiled at me. He leaned over and kissed me on the cheek. I breathed in his Aqua Di Gio.
“Yes, reminds me of someone. Look at her. Thinks she’s got this whole place wrapped around her little finger.”
“Well, that other one just looks boring and sad. White Russian. Bleh,” I said.
Sean sipped his Bloody Mary, licking the corner of his mouth clean.
“Aren’t you going to ask me what I’m going to do, Fi?”
I said nothing for a moment. Sean’s eyes sparkled, daring me to ask him. Sparkled like beady serpent eyes, blinking, tantalizing, charming, lethal.
“Fi?”
“No. Should I even stick around for this?”
“Probably better if you finished your drink and went home to Pepito.”
“If I was any other girl, I’d call you an asshole for telling me to finish my drink and to go home.”
Sean laughed darkly. “But you are not any other girl.”
Suddenly, I felt nauseous. Sick. Projectile-vomiting-punkrock-style sick with a chill that ran down my limbs.
“Why don’t we go dancing, Sean? Let’s go to the Starlight Lounge.”
“No. You already picked a girl for me. I have work to do. God’s work.”
“Forget her, Sean. Let’s go dancing. Don’t tell me you can’t dance.”
“Dancing. Someone told me once that dancing is ‘the vertical expression of horizontal desires.’ Wise man. And you have no horizontal desires, Fi.”
“But I like the vertical expression. Come on, let’s go.”
“No.”
“Sean. Come on.”
“No, Fi. I’m busy this evening. Go home.”
“Sean. Come on.”
“No.”
“Then take me home first. I might trip and die in these shoes. Or get mugged by some junkie.”
“So kick the bastard with those stilettos. Everyone has to die, Fi. Go home.”
Sean stood up and strode over to the tall blonde who flipped her hair over her shoulder and flashed him her professionally-whitened smile.
What the hell. The woman was asking for it.
Death, the great equalizer. Old, ugly, sick, poor. Young, gorgeous, healthy, rich. It doesn’t matter to the Reaper. Everyone ends up the same way. Dead, naked, stinking to high heaven, leaking, falling to pieces in pieces.
It didn’t matter to Sean either.
Everyone has to die. Especially the blonde and pretty.
CHAPTER
EIGHT
SEAN DISAPPEARED AFTER that evening at the Oak Room.
Modern technology has made it easier for people to disappear. Cell phones. Email. Blackberries. Voicemail. Answering machines. All of which can make it seem like someone can be contacted every which way from Sunday. All of which can take a message. None of which can make the person you are trying to reach call you back. Not even the new iPhone. The limits of modern technology.
“Dr. Killroy is not in. He had a family emergency,” said Sean’s receptionist.
Sean’s parents were dead. He had no siblings. He had no family that could have had an emergency.
“Can I take a message?” she asked.
Can you make him call me back?
No, you can’t. The limits of human beings.
Office, home, cell, email. Multiple messages on each. Maybe Sean died. Or was passed out at home drunk. Or just didn’t want to be found for a while. Either way, no Sean.
I suffered Sean withdrawal. Symptoms included lack of concentration, mood swings, anxiety, irritability, bloating, boredom. Boredom proved to be the most dangerous. Idleness and the Devil.
In my case, idleness and Laurie.
Man-crazy Laurie, who had just learned that the swanky bar two blocks from our office was hosting an Asian speed-dating event that evening. Single, available Asian boys. A whole bar full of them. Laurie’s idea of a gold mine.
“Oh my God, we have to go, Fi!” Laurie’s eyes glittered when she ran into my office. She bent and unbent her knees, trying to keep herself from jumping up and down.
“Not really my type of thing. Not into Asian boys.”
“But I need a wing-woman.”
“Don’t you have work to do, Laurie?”
“Don’t we all? But this is one of those can’t-miss opportunities. You’re not seeing someone, are you?”
“No, I’m still with Pepito.”
“God, Fi, stop talking about that bird. You sound like a crazy bird lady. So you coming or what?”
Asian speed-dating seemed like a good analgesic for the boredom brought on by Sean withdrawal. So I said yes.
We paid twenty-five dollars a piece to get in. The bar had a two-drink minimum. They wanted those booze goggles good and thick on us. They wanted us nice, willing, stupid for the boys. They wanted us to be mouthless, clawless Hello Kitties.
“Write your name and three things that you want the other person to know about you on your name tag,” said our slinky, sexy Asian hostess. Amanda Lin, according to her name tag. Black slip cocktail dress. Faux croc stilettos. Long hair all the way down to her waist, all smelling strongly of Issey Miyake.
“Three things!” Our hostess giggled and held up three, perfectly manicured fingers.
I glanced at Amanda’s name tag which listed the three things she wanted men in the room to know about her:
SHOPPING
COOKING
GIVING MASSAGES;)
I fought my gag reflex.
“Oh, what should I write?
What are you going to write?” Laurie asked, scanning the room nervously.
“Dunno yet.”
I looked down on my name tag. It said “Hi, I’m” with a large blank space for my name and my three things. I grabbed a Sharpie and wrote on my “Hi, I’m” tag:
NOT A GREEN CARD TICKET
NOT A MEAL TICKET
LOOKING FOR A BIG PENIS
Laurie gasped. “Fi, you’re not really going to wear that, are you?”
I peeled the waxy paper away from the label and slapped the tag on my lapel, wondering what Sean would have said had he seen what I had written. “What would you need a big penis for? Total waste on you.” He would probably have said something like that. And he would have been right. Sean always was.
“Or do you think it would look better on my forehead, Laurie?”
Laurie choked on her cosmo, coughing and snorting some out of her nose. She started laughing.
Amanda, our hostess, came over, read my tag, and gave me a nasty look. “You can’t wear that. Make another tag.”
“But I like this one.”
“No man is going to want you.”
Right.
“Okay, everyone. No talking. As you all know, this is silent speed-dating. Instead of speaking, you’ll be writing messages to each other on these index cards.” Our host held up salmon-colored 3x5 index cards, waving them over her head. “Okay, ready? No talking from now on until I say so.”
“Laurie, what is this?”
“Silent speed-dating, Fi. Shhhh!”
Save me, Jesus.
But Jesus wasn’t listening.
I wrote “Hi (Duh)” on my first index card and flashed it about. Three guys walked over to me and Laurie. They looked at my name tag, laughed, and started scribbling on their pink cards.
Hi, I’m Joe. You’re funny.
Hi, I’m Thomas. You’re funny.
Hi, I’m Greg. You’re funny.
Duh.
Laurie scribbled furiously.
Hi, I’m Laurie. I’m a lawyer. I work with Fi here.
Hi.
Hi.
Hi.
Hai.
And on it went. For two hours.
I started to wonder if any coupled happiness would result from our savage use of trees, dye, and ink. Then Joe and Thomas returned to where I was sitting at the bar. They both slipped me an index card. Each had a phone numbers scrawled on it.
Hello Kitty Must Die Page 6