Page 81 of Intoxicated
“Right. Wasn’t he like her stepbrother in that?”
“And in college, while she was sixteen.”
“How badly has that movie aged, again?”
Cher props her head up on her hand and wistfully stares out the window. The early evening sun glistens against the glass. It’s enough to keep my eyes averted, but Cher continues to stare. I’m not convinced she’s actually looking at anything. Probably a forgotten memory.
Sometimes I wish I could pick her brain. Other times, I’m content to swim in my blissful ignorance.
“What do youreallywant to do with the rest of your life?” she asks me.
My man Drew picks a helluva time to return with our drinks. I don’t engage in any jokes this time. Just a simple“Thank you”that turns into me wishing he’d get the hell on with it already. Come on, man. I have to plot out my future here!
“That’s a loaded question,” I say. “I could easily ask you that.”
“I’ve been pretty open about what I want to do. Travel the world, read every book that’s ever interested me, drink tea in the most interesting nooks and crannies around Portland.”
“Is that really a whole life, though?”
She shrugs. “Fine. I want crazy-good sex, too.”
“There you go. That’s what I want for my life. Let’s build an existence around it.”
“Says the guy wearing a trucker hat in a high-class lounge?”
“This is high-class?” I look around. I’m far from the only guy in here wearing a hat or jeans. Hell, there are guys in open-toe sandals. Women in short-shorts and tank tops. For every person dressed at least business casual, there’s another treating this place like the local taqueria. I didn’t think anything of it until Cher said something. When you’re as loaded as I am, you don’t question dress codes. Not when you go out to eat. Not unless you’re trying to impress somebody. Say, like a date. “Huh. The more you know.”
She levels a rueful gaze on me. “You know what I meant. For the average person, thisisclassy. Maybe it’s not the place where we met, but…”
“I think that might be one of my favorite places.” I pick up my glass and wink at her. “’Cause I met you there, baby.”
I set out to make her groan, and I have succeeded. Score one, Drew.
It’s only a matter of time before she reminds me of her question. Maybe I’ll score some extra points if I go ahead andtryto answer it now. “Anyway, I’ve actually been thinking a lot about what I want to do with the rest of my life. The era of Drew Benton, Professional Avenger, is over. I’m only keeping my business open and my assistant employed because I’ll eventually turn them both into something else. Start over. Maybe I’ll go into real consulting like my grandmother thinks I do.” The sooner I do it, the better. If dementia doesn’t get my grandma, she’ll figure out the truth, and I’ll be inso much hot waterI’ll boil alive. “But I’m also thinking about my drunk-high idea to do a matchmaking service. Of course, that would be a serious rebrand. Do you think my old, happy clients would go for it?”
Cher tilts her head. I can’t tell if that look is intrigued or pure disbelief. She has yet to touch her drink; meanwhile, I’m over here already half-finished with mine.
“You mean, can you go from being that angry, bitter guy who gives them that glimpse of vengeance… to the guy who tells them,‘Yeah, bro,’’ she adopts a stance, mannerism, and tone of voice that isnothinglike me at all,“I totally got the right hot chick for you. She’s got a Master’s in Physics with a Minor in Blowjobs. When can I hook you guys up?”
“Come on, it wouldn’t be likethat.”
“I seem to recall me helping you find hot women willing to learn the sugar baby life.”
“I mean, I’m not guaranteeing they’ll find the life partner of their hearts and loins. Just the loins of the moment. I would do my best to match compatible people, all right?”
“Right.” Cher sips her drink. Is that sour face from the taste, or what I said? “You can’t fix stupid, though. Or people with impossible standards. Or men who don’t realize they need to be marrying a woman they see as a human being first, hot piece of ass second.”
“And the women? I’m doubting most of my female clients will be hot young heiresses looking for rich old daddies.” I might get a few, though. There is always that occasional gal with serious daddy issues. Can’t be helped. Well,Ican’t help it. Society isn’t my problem. “What do they need to realize?”
Cher shrugs. “That they’re disposable, unless they play it safe the whole way through. Even then? Disposable.”
If I needed anything to completely kill my enthusiasm, that would do it.Disposable.She’s not saying that she thinks women are disposable. No, what she’s implying is that it doesn’t matter how much a woman thinks highly of herself, lowly of herself, or anything in between. The rich man she’s with isn’t going to see her as anything more than a convenient toy to move on from the moment she gets a little too old or opinionated.
I wish I could say that’s ridiculous, but I’ve known my fair share of guys, both my age and older, who have fallen into the trap of always needing younger and prettier girlfriends. Once their first wives start to show their age, let alone have children they don’t immediately bounce back from, guys are already thinking about the next honey to catch their attention. I grew up in a house where youth and beauty fade, but smarts don’t always improve. My sister seems to be an exception to both rules, but she’s still not yet thirty-five. Give her a few more years, and we’ll be grateful she turned out to be the smart one.
“I love men,” Cher says with a sigh, “but they can be so dumb about love.”
“Doesn’t really help if the women they’re seeing are playing them for fools.”
