Page 159 of Consummation

“Ah, Bangkok,” I say, chuckling. “The scene of the original crime.”

“Ah, yes. I remember it well. If you weren’t such an old manthese days, I’d have invited you to join me for a little walk down memory lane.”

“Oh, fuck. No thanks. I’m too old and too happy to do any of that shit now. Almost killed me at eighteen—God only knows what that shit would do to me at thirty-one.”

“Oh, yeah. Happy almost-birthday, old man.”

“Thanks. So what dates are you gonna be in Bangkok?”

He tells me.

“I think Jonas and Sarah are actually gonna be there during those dates,” I say.

“Really? No way.”

“Yeah. Jonas is taking the missus climbing in Mae Do for four days—poor, poor Sarah—and then I’m pretty sure he said they’re gonna hit Bangkok for a few days after that.”

“Well, if the timing works out, tell ’em to come to the promotional thing at the nightclub. I’ll put ’em on the VIP list. Will and the Thai boys are gonna perform their new song, plus they’ll all do ‘Crash’ together. The crowd’s gonna go apeshit—’Crash’ is number one in Thailand right now.”

“Whereisn’t‘Crash’ number one?”

“In countries filled with stupid people.”

I laugh. “Yeah, put Jonas and Sarah on your VIP list, for sure. Sarah loves hip-hop. She’ll freak out.”

“Okay, cool. I’ll text you the details when I have ’em. You can forward the info to your brother.”

“Awesome. Thanks. Just be warned, though, Jonas might try to break your pretty face for torturing him—as much as Sarah loves hip-hop, Jonas absolutely abhors it. Plus, Jonas hates nightclubs—so he’ll be extra grouchy for you.”

“Eh, I’ll be okay. If Jonas tries to attack me, I’ll sic Barry on him.”

“Oh, Barry will be there? Say hi to him for me. I love that guy.”

“Will do. So, hey, I gotta go—we’re at the after-party with theSNLcast—I just stepped outside for a smoke.”

“You’re already partying? Will just performed a few minutes ago.”

“Three-hour-tape-delay for the West Coast, numnuts.”

“Oh, yeah. Duh. Well, have fun, man—enjoy every minute ofyour success. You deserve it. You’re totally winning at The Game of Life, man. It’s awesome to watch.”

“Hey, that’s the idea, man—as you well know. Win, win, win, as much as humanly possible—and then die taking none of it with you. Speaking of winning at The Game of Life, say hi to Stubborn Kat for me and tell Little G her Über-Cool Uncle Reed loves her like crazy.”

“I will. Text me the info about Bangkok when you have it.”

“Sure thing. Bye, bro. Enjoy changing shitty diapers. Peace.”

I hang up my phone and walk back into my bedroom—and I’m met with Arma-fucking-geddon currently in progress: Mademoiselle Terrorist is wailing her head off and Kat is leaping desperately around the room like a kangaroo, bouncing Gracie up and down frantically, obviously trying her mighty best (and failing miserably) to quiet our mini-beast. When Kat sees me, she flashes me a look of such desperation, I almost laugh out loud.

“I don’t know what’s pissing her off so much,” Kat whimpers. “I’ve tried everything.”

“Give her to me, babe.” I hold out my arms. “I’ll hit her with the Playboy Razzle-Dazzle.”

“It won’t work,” Kat whines. “I fed her. I changed her. I burped her. I sang to her. She just cries and cries andcries. Oh myGod.”

“Give her to me, babe. She likes the smell of my skin.” I take Gracie’s writhing, shrieking body from Kat and hold her against my bare chest—and not four seconds later, Gracie’s head does three complete revolutions on her neck and she pukes breast milk all over me.

“Gah!” I shout.

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