Maria Reynaldi
Todd has a monthly poker game at his place in Hollywood. Alyna lets me go every four to six months. I never win money at these games, but I do take the opportunity to get drunk and complain about work and wives and kids with all of the other guys, who mainly complain about the same shit. Todd is the only guy at the game who isn’t married with kids.
Todd says, “Done-zo. I’m a free motherfucking man, gentlemen. Kind of sucks, but also kind of feels fucking great. So, all of you married losers, let it be known that you’re all on permanent wingman rotation.”
A guy named Reggie Manning, who used to work with Todd, says, “You wouldn’t want me as a wingman. I’ve been stomped in the cock so many times by my wife I don’t think I’d even be able to talk to a chick.”
Todd says, “Reggie, you should take notes from my man over here,” and nods in my direction. He says, “This fucker’s been married for what?”
I say, “Five years.”
Todd says, “Five fucking years and the other night he was like a fish to water with these two sluts at Firefly. You should have seen it. Thing of fucking beauty.”
I say, “It wasn’t as crazy as he’s making it out to be. We just had a few beers with these chicks. That was it.”
A guy named Carl Cryzenski, who used to play in another weekly poker game with Todd, says, “Fuck, what I wouldn’t give to have a few beers with some random skanks in a bar again. How often does your wife let you fuck her?”
I say, “Who, me?”
He says, “Yeah.”
I say, “Probably two or three times a month.”
He says, “I’m about the same. The shitty part is, though, she doesn’t even want to. It’s like she’s obligated or something. I’d almost rather jerk off.”
I realize that everyone sitting at this table is involved in a similar scenario except Todd. I wonder if the trade-off of having a family, having a woman and children you know will be there at your deathbed, is worth the price of sexual retirement in your mid-thirties.
Todd says, “You guys are a pack of fucking fags.”
A guy named Lewis Carver, who I think is a friend of Carl’s, says, “We’re not fags for having families, dude.”
Todd says, “Well, you talk like a pack of fags.”
Todd laughs at this and tries to get the hand back on track by forcing Lewis, whom the action has been on for the length of this conversation, to bet or fold. He folds. Todd says, “You know what we should do instead of this? Seventh Veil.”
Reggie says, “What’s Seventh Veil?”
Todd says, “How long have you lived in LA?”
Reggie says, “I live in Toluca Lake.”
Todd says, “It’s the filthiest strip club of all time. Fully nude, so no booze. Or I think they serve beer or some shit now. But we should still get hammered here and then head over.”
Carl says, “I told my wife I’d be sleeping on your couch anyway. I’m in.”
I say, “Sure.”
Lewis says, “It’s only ten. I can’t go home yet.”
Todd says, “Ooh, the fags are growing some balls.”
Lewis says, “Fags have balls, you retard. They fucking lick each others’ balls and jizz all over each others’ faces with the cum in those balls.”
Todd says, “You know what I’m saying, douche.”
Reggie displays visible signs of an impending anxiety attack as he makes his decision.
Todd says, “Reggie, what kind of tits does your wife have?”
Reggie says, “Pretty big. Why?”
Todd says, “Because the Veil will have a skank who has small tits.”
Reggie almost gets a far-off look in his eye, like he’s really thinking about some imaginary girl with small tits. He says, “I could be into seeing something like that.”
Todd says, “Fuck seeing it. Twenty bucks will get it right in your face.”
We all pound some shots of whatever shitty tequila Todd has at his place, and half an hour later we’re drunk, paying our cover at the Seventh Veil. Once we’re inside we all get seats next to each other around one of the stages, where a stripper who’s easily forty-five bounces her ass up and down unenthusiastically as she watches the front door. Her tits are fake and enormous. This goes on for the length of Drake and Lil Wayne’s “I’m on One,” during which all the other guys get picked off by trolling strippers and make their way to the back room for private dances.
Then it’s just Todd and me sitting out at the stage holding out dollar bills for the next stripper, who comes out and wipes down the pole with a rag. I notice that she’s definitely too fat to be a stripper when I see her taking bills from customers by snapping them against the fat rolls on her hips with her G-string. As she snags one of my dollars in this manner, Todd says, “So, you miss this shit or what?”
I get another dollar out. “Not really, man. This is actually kind of shitty.”
Todd points directly to the fat stripper’s cunt, which she is exposing and spreading an inch from Todd’s index finger, and says, “No, man. How is this shitty?”
I say, “I don’t know. You know what I’m thinking about right now?”
Todd looks to the fat stripper, gives her a ten-dollar bill, and says, “Can you shut him up with your tits, please?”
I manage to get out the following as she smothers my face in her tits: “I’m thinking about my fucking kids.”
She goes back to the stage and gets on her pole. Todd says, “But you’re not thinking about your wife. Kids are something I’ll never get, so I’ll grant you that, but you wouldn’t be in here right now if you were getting the right pussy from wifey.”
I say, “Don’t get me wrong, I’d love to fuck more, but we have kids. Fucking isn’t what it’s about anymore for us.” Even as I say it, it sounds stupid. It sounds like something a guy like me is supposed to say to a guy like Todd at our age. I want to laugh at it, but instead I can feel something hot twisting and burning in the pit of my stomach. For a fleeting moment I think back to a time when I was with Casey, my girlfriend before Alyna. I remember one night after we got back from some art thing she wanted to go to at LACMA—some Gustav Klimt exhibit, I think. We hadn’t fucked in a few days and I tried to initiate something by grabbing her tit and kissing her when we walked through her front door. She turned to me and said something about how our relationship didn’t always have to be about sex. I remember how much I wanted to smash something when she said that, how much I wanted to scream in her face that our relationship was only about sex, that I would have no reason to ever hang out with her if she didn’t fuck me. Relationships between men and women are only about sex. The rest of the shit is incidental.
Todd says, “Fucking is always what it’s about, man. I saw you the other night. As much as you didn’t want to fucking admit it, you were into those chicks flirting with us. I know you, man. Maybe you have some kids now, but there’s the heart of a hunter in there, motherfucker,” he says, hitting my chest with the flat of his hand.
I say, “Those chicks wouldn’t have fucked me.”
Todd says, “Yeah, that one would have. Fuck her, though. You got any skanks at work or anything who are game? I know there’s got to be some hot piece of ass running around that place who you just want to fucking gut like a fish.”
I say, “There’s a new intern.”
Todd laughs and says, “There’s that fucking hunter, strapping on his bow and arrow.”
I say, “It’s stupid. I’m sure she’s not interested. And even if she was, I can’t fucking cheat on my wife.”
He says, “Why not? Who gives a fuck? Dude, listen up. My fucking dad told me this.” I look at him quizzically. “You remember a few years back when he was really sick and shit and I had to go back home and take care of him and do the funeral and all that shit?”
I say, “Yeah,” as the fat stripper rakes up her bills like leaves and a new stripper named Raven takes the stage. Raven is actually hot. Petite, pale, blue eyes, black hair. She has a tattoo on her ribcage in Latin: AUDACES FORTUNA IUVAT. She comes over to Todd and me at once. I assume it’s because she saw us handing out bills to her fat friend. She spreads her legs to reveal a perfect pussy and asshole. I say to Todd, “Yeah, I remember.”
Raven leans toward me and grazes my face with her perfect, hard, early-twenties tits. She smells like candy. Todd says, “Well, there were a few minutes on his last day when it was just me and him in his hospital room.”
Raven whispers in my ear, “Hey, cutie.” I can feel a hard-on starting.
Todd says, “My mom was out getting food or some shit and my sister was shitting or some shit. My dad fucking told me some shit.” Raven turns around and spreads her perfect ass. Todd says, “He started his little speech off by saying some bitch’s name. He was like, ‘Maria Reynaldi.’ And I was like, ‘Who in the hell is that, Dad?’ I thought he was having dementia or something, right?”
Raven licks her own left nipple, looks at me, then smiles.
Todd says, “So he told me Maria Reynaldi was some bitch he had the chance to bang at some company Christmas party or some shit, but it would have meant cheating on my mom so he didn’t fucking do it. He said that when you’re on your fucking deathbed, like he actually fucking was—I mean, he literally died like less than a day after telling me this—he said, you don’t give a fuck that your family is there. They don’t stop the fact that you’re dying. And he also said that the only thing you think about is fucking one last time, which you know you can’t do. So you start thinking back over your life in terms of fucking—not about seeing your kid win some good-attendance award, not about the shit you did in your career, not even about shit like your wedding day or the day your kids were born, just about the fucking you did. And he said, you don’t look back happily at the chicks you actually did fuck. He said, you’re tormented by the ones you know you could have fucked but didn’t because you were married or you didn’t have the balls or whatever the reason might have been. He told me to fuck as many chicks as I could before I died no matter what. Even if I was married, had a girlfriend, or whatever, he made it real fucking clear that I should take every opportunity I could to fuck, so that the last thing that flashes through my brain before I die won’t be some skank who got away like Maria fucking Reynaldi.”
Raven’s song ends. She leans over the stage railing and whispers in my ear, “You want a private dance?”
I say, “I’d like to, but I have to get back home to my wife and kids.”
Todd says, “I don’t have a wife and kids. I’ll take a private dance.”
I say, “Tell the guys I went home.”
Todd says, “Pussy,” as he and Raven head to the back room.
When I get home, everyone is asleep. I take a shower and get into bed. Alyna wakes up for a few seconds and says, “How’d poker go? You win any money?”
I say, “No. I lost forty bucks.”
She says, “Sorry, honey,” then goes back to sleep. I get out my phone and Google Raven’s tattoo. AUDACES FORTUNA IUVAT. “Fortune favors the bold.”