Advice from a Pro
Todd calls me. He says, “You in the mood for a little booze?”
I am. I say, “Yes.”
He says, “Forty-five minutes? Zons?” I meet him forty-five minutes later at the Four Seasons in Beverly Hills. It’s a Sunday night, so it’s not that crowded. A few out-of-town businessmen who didn’t fly back to wherever they’re from on Sunday morning sit around the lounge as Todd and I take two seats at the bar. We get our drinks and he says, “So, how you managing the shitstorm?”
I say, “Not too well, man. Alyna wants me to sign divorce papers and Holly sucked some guy’s dick last night at a party that I drove her to.”
He says, “By ‘some guy’ you don’t mean you, right?”
I say, “I do not mean me.”
He says, “Sorry, man. That’s some real shit. I know I always say this, but seriously, thank you for constantly reminding me why I will never get married.”
I say, “Fuck you.”
He says, “Lighten up. This shit will all be behind you in a year or two.”
I say, “I don’t know if you remember that I have kids. So, no, it won’t.”
He says, “I know, man. I know.”
I notice a woman next to us, dressed a little too slutty for the Four Seasons, sipping a Diet Coke by herself. She’s wearing enough perfume so that I can smell her from where I’m sitting. She smells good. She looks over at an old bald guy sitting at the end of the bar, then slides down a few chairs so she’s sitting next to him and she says, “Hey, how’s your night going?”
I look at Todd and say, “You see that shit?”
He says, “Yeah.”
I say, “You ever had a chick do that to you?”
He says, “Dude, she’s a fucking pro.”
I say, “What? How do you know?”
He says, “The Zons, the Peninsula, Beverly Wilshire—high-class pros hang out in the bars and pick up rich dudes who are staying in the hotel.”
I say, “Are you fucking serious?”
He says, “Yeah.”
I turn and watch the prostitute work her game on the old guy. She says, “You staying here?”
He says, “Yeah.”
She says, “Very nice. I love this hotel.”
He says, “Yeah. I stay here when I’m in town.”
She says, “You leaving tomorrow?”
He says, “Yeah.”
She says, “Well, you should make sure you have as much fun as you can on your last night here.”
He raises his drink and says, “I think I’m just going to finish my drink and then go to bed.” He fucking knows the drill. I wonder if he’s fucked prostitutes before. Maybe he’s even fucked this one before.
She says, “Okay. Well, it was nice to meet you.” I wonder if she’s fucked him before and doesn’t even remember.
The old bald guy downs his drink, pays his tab, and heads off into the hotel. The pro looks around at her prospects, which are not too good, checks her phone, and then slides back over to us. In a tone completely devoid of any of the sexual charm she used on the old bald guy, she says, “How’s your night going?” to Todd and me.
Todd says, “Not bad. You?”
She says, “Pretty slow.” She’s not completely divulging the fact that she’s a prostitute, but she might as well be.
Todd says, “Can I ask you something?”
She says, “Sure.”
Then, without even asking if it’s okay with me, he says, “My friend here is going through a shitty divorce. Seems to me like you might know more than the average person about how relationships and shit like that work. You got any advice for him?”
Without skipping a beat she says, “Well, who cheated on whom?”
I say, “Uh . . . I guess technically I did the cheating.”
She says, “But it was because the Mrs. wasn’t sucking your dick anymore, right?”
I say, “In so many words.”
She says, “And was the pussy you got worth ruining whatever you had with the Mrs.?”
I say, “I thought it might be, but I don’t think so now.”
She says, “So lesson learned. You fucked up. Do you think you fucked up?”
I really think about this for a minute. I don’t know if I think I did or not. I do actually feel at least semi-justified in fucking Holly. I don’t know if I did or not. For argument’s sake I say, “Sure.”
She says, “Well, that doesn’t sound too sincere. But you just need to go back to the Mrs. and say, ‘Listen, honey, I fucked up.’ ”
I say, “I don’t know if it’s that simple.”
And this is when the prostitute turns to me and says something I’ll probably remember for the rest of my life. She says, “It’s always that simple. I fucked up. I’m sorry. That’s all she wants to hear—that you’re sorry for fucking up, and that you’ve learned something from it, and that because of whatever you learned you’re not even capable of doing it again. Everyone makes mistakes. She just wants to know that you know it was a mistake. Unless you kill somebody, it’s pretty rare that the mistake is bad enough to fuck something up forever.”
When I get back to my hotel room at the Marriott, I force myself to jerk off thinking about Alyna’s ass and tits. Memories of fucking Holly creep in from time to time, but when I blow my load I’m thinking back to a time when Alyna sucked my dick in the shower of my old apartment a few months after we first started dating. I fucked up.