1
James
* * *
It’s after 9 p.m. on a Friday, which marks the end of my first week back in New York City. I’ve been abroad for a year on a self-imposed exile, seeing the sights of the world and trying to forget my past while also re-inventing myself. Now, my bones are weary as I recover from jet lag. Damn, I must be getting old because this shit didn’t hit me so hard in the past.
But that’s why I’m at D-Luxe, a quiet, upscale bar in Midtown East instead of hitting the clubs like I normally would on a Friday night. It’s peaceful here, and I enjoy the mellow ambience. Of course, the setting is luxurious per my tastes, but still, the music is subtle, the drinks strong, and most importantly, the women are beautiful.
I feel someone come up to my elbow, and then is it my imagination, or does a plump breast bump my arm? Sure enough, when I turn, there’s an attractive middle-aged woman winking at me. She’s appealing enough with a slender figure, dark hair, and a perfectly made-up face, but unfortunately, not my type. The woman literally purrs a bit before cocking her hip to the side and sashaying away, casting a coy glance over one shoulder in a “come hither” manner.
But I don’t budge from my seat. A year ago, I would be slavering after the woman like a dog in heat. But I’ve changed so much over the course of my travels that I can only muster a polite nod in return. After all, I left New York in search of change, and it’s turned me into a different man.
Shoulders slumping, I look around. At least the bar is nice even if my mood is spiraling downwards fast. The floors are a mottled mix of various hues of brown stone, and the walls are painted a cozy burnt umber. I’m sitting on a brown leather barstool with brass accents, and it’s comfortable, to my surprise. I hate those stiff wooden high chairs they have at dives because all they result in is a sore ass at the end of the night.
But still, it’s strange to be back in NYC after a year away. After the pulsing thrum of foreign cities and the exotic flavors and aromas of different cuisines, being here, in Midtown, is almost like culture shock. It should feel like coming home, but instead, it just feels uncomfortable.
So what’s changed? I’m a New Yorker, born and bred, so this is my natural milieu. Yet everything about this place seems off. I can’t put my finger on it and it drives me crazy. As a result, I take another morose sip of my gin and tonic, letting the alcohol numb me.
Fuck, at around this time last week, I was lying in a hotel room in Morocco with a nude, lush woman at my side. It was pure hedonism, and in a way, I wish it never had to end. But I have responsibilities. As a scion of the Montgomery family, I work at our family business. Extended leaves are okay, but it’s not fine to take off forever. Someone has to drive the truck, and in this case, it’s me and my older brother Luke.
Fuck. Luke. I’m surprised my older brother even talks to me now, after what I did to him and his wife. My actions were inexcusable, and I absolutely regret exposing Luke’s wife, Patty, as an escort. I recognize now that that was reprehensible, and that my actions impinged on Patty’s privacy, not to mention hurting her deeply as a person. What a huge clusterfuck that was, and I wish I could take it all back.
But what happened, happened. After the worst had passed, I apologized profusely and then took off, booking a ticket to Bangkok that very night. Some self-reflection was much-needed, and now, after a year, I’m a changed man.
Yet how do I fit in again? How do I readjust and make myself into a respectable, business-oriented Montgomery when I’ve spent the last year indulging in utter hedonism? After all, I experienced some of the most beautiful, adventurous women in the world, who did anything for the right price. I visited brothels in Amsterdam, the Red Light district in Bangkok, and the secret courtesans of Paris. I sampled the Kama Sutra front to back, and then back to front again. I had women proposition me from balconies in little towns you’ve never heard of, and even worse, I took them up on their offers. Yeah, I’m that kind of guy. The kind who enjoys the filthiest fun, and I’m not ashamed to admit that I got my fill and then some.
But now, I’m supposed to come back and be “respectable” once more. I’m supposed to wear a suit and play the part of a prosperous businessman while sitting through endless boring meetings. It’s fine because that’s what the job entails, but I need more. I still remember the sting of sensual wax dripping over my back followed by the slickness of a woman’s tongue soothing my skin. I still remember the cool touch of an ice cube curving down my spine as three women massaged me with their tits in the confines of my luxury suite.