Roger
“You gonna answer that?” Buddy asks as my phone rings for about the thousandth time. It vibrates like a coked-up gnat against the chrome café table we’re at.
“No,” I tell him, not even bothering to turn it over to see the caller ID.
“Might be important.”
“It’s going to be some other blood-sucking reporter asking me to comment.”
“Can I answer it?” He reaches across the table. I slap his hand.
“No. Do you know what you want to order?”
We’re sitting outside Maria’s Café. I invested in one of Maria’s early concepts, and this place is even better. You gotta love the view, since it’s right along Central Park. It’s a beautiful day and it would be like any other wonderful lunch I’ve enjoyed countless times… were it not for the circumstances.
“You really are deep in it this time,” Buddy says with glee. His somewhat round frame shifts in his seat as he pretends to peruse the menu. He’s enjoying this too much.
“Pick something, would you?” I beg.
He lets out a dramatic sigh. “Sucks to be a billionaire, right? First time I’m relieved to only havemillions…”
“You’re a real man of the people.”
“Ain’t I just.”
Finally, he signals our waitress. I recognize her as Louisa, one of my favorites. We share a smile as she comes over.
I order a burger with fries. Maria’s makes a great watercress salad with ahi tuna that I’m a fan of, but I’m still fucking hungover. Buddy orders a salmon BLT and a cocktail. I order a whiskey, one rock. This one’s not for the hangover, just my usual lunchtime nip.
I’m hoping that with our order in, he’s ready to move on to another topic. No such luck. He slathers the house herb butter on some fluffy bread and says through a full mouth, “Thing is, the way you live? It’s a miracle you’ve gone this long without having your literal ass in the papers.”
Well, that’s cold comfort, but I guess it’ll have to do. I force myself to smile. “You’re right, Buddy. We should really be celebrating the great run I’ve had of non-front-page nudity.”
“Fun while it lasted,” Buddy quips. He can see I’m not completely comforted by the ‘achievement’, however.
“Listen,” he says, for the first time with an air of seriousness, “the whole thing’s going to blow over in a week. There’ll be another scandal by then.”
“Maybe involving you.”
“I should be so lucky.”
I look out at the skyline and think of the deal I’ve got coming up with the Barron Corporation this week. “Maybe the notoriety will give me some advantage with the deal I’ve got coming up,” I muse. “Add to the playboy mystique. Give me some enchantment over them at the negotiating table.”
“I don’t know,” Buddy considers. “Jared Barron’s a grade-A asshole, but he might be impressed by this.”
Louisa brings out the drinks, and I raise mine in a toast. “What’s bad for some is good for the rest of us.”
Buddy joins me. “What’s bad for everyone else is somehow always good for Roger Zane.”
I sip my whiskey. Buddy pauses before trying his cocktail and mutters, “Hope she was worth it.”
Then he shifts on to other topics, thank God. Buddy is capable of carrying on a conversation with almost no input from me, which is just as well, because most of my mind is considering his little aside.
Hope she was worth it.
It’s tempting to think that no woman is worth this sort of public scrutiny. Not that I’m a modest guy, or unused to the odd scandal. Still, itismy ass on the front page of the papers. I’m aware of the stares I’m getting from the other café patrons – and even a few of the staff. Salacious stares that say, ‘I know what you’ve been doing, naughty boy.’
It’s not that I’m embarrassed. It’s just not an ideal situation, you know?