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BY EIGHT-THIRTY, NAIM and Brandy, we’re having dinner at BLT Prime by David Burke, the Trump International Hotel’s high-priced steakhouse, prominently located on the mezzanine. The spot overlooked the iconic Clock Tower, Naim continued to hope that no one was scheduled to die in Washington, D.C. at the hands of David Thurman, as he sipped Pinot Noir. Prayerfully, Thurman was taking a break from picking off politicians determined to keep up the war on drugs. Blocking the anxiety of more potential murders, Naim had treated himself to an in-house masseuse, facial, and manicure upon return from the law school. Over those three hours, Brandy was holed up in the suite penning a serious speculative op-ed set to be featured in the Washington Post and New York Times. The piece tied Weston’s murder to his rigorous opposition to reforming drug laws. It was chock full of facts, statistics, and conspiracy theories, the kind of deliciousness that drove newspapers print sales through the roof.
While they ate, a dozen white roses were delivered to the table for Brandy. Naim had ordered them. A slice of his charm, thanking her for being a great partner in and out of bed. The gesture applauded her forcing a smile to spread on her lovely face.
“You know, you’re truly amazing, but very genuine,” she said smiling. “Thank you”.
“What ever do you mean?” He was laughing, flashing bright white teeth.
“If I didn’t know any better, I’d think you are trying to wine and dine me to get into my LaPearla’s.”
“Well, I am.” He winked dramatically. “That’s why I bought ‘em.”
She slapped his arm, and then said, “What I meant was, when you go out of your way to send flowers my way or other gifts, I take the gestures as your commitment to continuing to make me happy. You truly embody the spirit of happy wife-happy life. And we’re not even married.”
Naim simply smiled and thanked her. “For me, it’s no easy task to please a woman who has it all. The one thing you can’t give yourself, though, I do. I will always go out of my way to provide you with love. I mean, how else do people reach their gold anniversary?”
“Gold. I’m not sure I have fifty years left.”
“But just in case you do,” he said, smiling and raising his glass. “Let’s toast to that.”
She tapped her wine flute against his, and said, “You’re really giving it your all for Happiness Happens Month.”
“We could skip this and get to something else celebrated this month.”
“What’s that?”
“Tell me, it’s National Toddler Month,” he replied, smiling.