Chance Encounter
Holly and I are on our way to eat dinner after work. She told me she’s never been to Wolfgang’s in Beverly Hills and fancy restaurants make her want to fuck. So we’re headed to Wolfgang’s.
Before we go over the hill I stop at a gas station on Ventura to fill up. I leave the pump running and walk around to the passenger’s side, open the door, and say, “I’m getting a pack of gum. You want anything to drink?”
Holly doesn’t look up from her phone and says, “Maybe. I’ll come in with you.” Then I wait for probably thirty seconds while she finishes texting or updating her Facebook before she gets out of the car and we walk into the gas station.
She gets a Starbucks Frappuccino. I get a fruit-punch Gatorade 2 and a Snickers bar. As we check out, Holly says, “Ooh, can we get some Lotto tickets?”
I say, “Scratch-off or regular Lotto tickets?”
She says, “Scratch-off. Why would you get regular Lotto tickets?”
I say, “Because the regular Lotto gives out more money, to the tune of twenty million dollars or something.”
She says, “But nobody ever wins that.”
I say, “Yeah. Somebody does, every week almost.”
She says, “You know what I mean,” and I buy her some scratch-off lottery tickets and we turn to head back to the car. Just as we’re walking out the door, I stop dead in my fucking tracks. My legs turn to lead and I feel like my stomach is exploding. Walking in through the same door Holly and I are walking out of are Alyna, Andy, and Jane. All I can do is to wonder why I didn’t just get gas on the other side of the fucking hill. She sees us. A conversation is unavoidable.
Andy starts it. He says, “Daddy!” Everyone in the place turns their head and starts to watch what I know is going to be one of the worst moments of my fucking life. I wonder if either of the two guys in the place is cheating on his wife and feeling any sympathy for me in what is clearly a nightmare scenario for any guy who has ever cheated on his wife.
I say, “Hey, bud.”
He says, “Who is this?”
I don’t know what to say, exactly. Holly surprisingly jumps in with “I’m your dad’s friend from work.”
Alyna has never been violent but I can see that she wants to fucking cave in Holly’s skull with the heel of her shoe. I’m glad the kids are with her or she might actually attempt it.
Andy says, “Oh. Hi. What’s your name?”
Holly says, “Holly. What’s yours?”
Andy says, “Andy.”
Alyna’s had enough of this shit and I kind of don’t blame her. It’s one thing that Andy clearly favors me in this whole thing, but I can see why she wouldn’t want Holly developing any kind of relationship with him, no matter how rudimentary. Alyna says, “Okay, well, I have things to do with these kids, and I’m sure you have things to do with your kid, so good-bye.”
What a fucking cunt. Holly is visibly pissed off, but she doesn’t say anything. She just glares at Alyna. If I was watching this on TV or in a movie it would be amazing. As it happens, I’m watching it in the gas station I’m trying to leave. It is far less amazing.
I say, “See you later, then.”
I just want to get in the car and start dealing with whatever it is I’m going to have to say in order to salvage the night and still get to fuck Holly in the ass when I hear Andy say, “Daddy, when will I get to see you again?”
I say, “Uh, I don’t know.”
He says, “I want to see you tomorrow.”
I say, “Well, I’ll have to see how work goes.”
He says, “No. I want to see you tomorrow!” Now everyone in the place is focused on our little drama that’s unfolding. No one wants to be a part of it. I feel like I have no choice but to lie directly to my son. I say, “Okay. I’ll see you tomorrow.”
He says, “You promise?”
I say, “Yeah, bud, I promise.”
He hugs my leg and says, “I love you.”
I hug him back and say, “I love you, too.”
He says, “See you tomorrow,” and we leave.
We get in the car and drive over the hill to eat steak. The only thing Holly says about it is, “Sorry if I acted weird or anything. Just, that comment your wife made about me being a kid—you don’t see me that way, do you?”
I say, “No. Not at all,” even though I kind of do.
I tell her she didn’t act weird, and I thank her for being cool about it. She still seems pissed, though, so I assure her that I don’t view her as a child at all. I tell her she’s mature and has her shit together and is young, certainly, but not a child.
That night, after I blow my load in her ass, I lie awake next to her as she snores on the opposite side of the bed from me. I stare at the ceiling imagining what my son is doing. He’s probably asleep, but I imagine him awake in his own bed, happy that he’ll get to see his dad tomorrow. For the first time in my life, I despise myself.