We returned to the city the next day. Piggy dropped me off at Michelle’s apartment, gave me a kiss on the cheek, and waved goodbye. I waited for a couple of days for the booty call, but it never came. In fact, I never saw Piggy again. Who knows why? She certainly didn’t give me any explanation. But, I learned a long time ago not to question these sort of things. I knew myself too well. When I wasn’t into someone anymore, I just stopped calling. No need for confrontations. They can get ugly. Avoidance was the best medicine. Unfortunately, this medicine being dished out to me tasted pretty shitty.
Luckily, I had a party to go to at Jon’s house in a few days. The Jon and Sara Annual New Year’s Eve Bash. Days earlier, I had actually considered bringing Piggy to this party, but now those hopes were shattered. I would have to ring in the New Year with the couples. The thought of it sent shivers down my spine. It didn’t bother me that all my friends were married and living outside the city. In fact, I kind of liked it. I was able to go out with anyone I wanted, I had the freedom to do what I wanted, and there was no one in the city to judge me - especially not the wives. What scared me most about this party was the fact that it was going to be all couples. Everyone would look at me and comment, “Who’s the single guy? Can we set him up with someone? It must be sad to be single on New Year’s Eve when you’re that old.” Fuck.
Everyone was going to be there. Jon and Sara, of course, Peter and Amy, Matthew and Jen, Dan and Tammy. This was my college group. I had left the high school group behind a long time ago. At least 30 more couples would also be in attendance, all ready to ring in the New Year. Last New Year’s Eve, I was a couple. Now I was entering into the lion’s den, flying solo. All I kept thinking was: this is a bad move.
The Jon and Sara Annual New Year’s Eve Bash always started out with drinks. After all, it’s New Year’s Eve. Guests would imbibe drinks that were way too strong for them and subsequently get hammered while Jon and Sara fixed dinner. For some reason, Jon and Sara loved fixing a seven-course feast. They loved the preparation, the cooking, and I think even the cleaning. But that was before the kids came. Since Jon and Sara moved out to their new house on Long Island, the cocktail hour was now catered and a bartender fixed your drinks. Jon had a bar built in his house - for entertaining, of course. That’s why Sara allowed it to be built. If it were there just for fun . . . I think you know where this is going: no bar.
Ten o’clock would usher in the inevitable dinner. Each person would be assigned a seat that was indicated on a handcrafted place-card that one received upon entering the party. Last year, the place-card was a picture of their two year-old. Apparently, this is what Sara spent her time doing, as she no longer worked. The two year-old was cared for by a nanny, which left Sara with plenty of time to plan. I wondered what this year’s place-card would be. By 11:30, the party would actually be in full-blown shindig mode, the obligatory kisses at midnight, and then the party would slowly dwindle by 2 a.m.
This New Year’s Eve, I arrived at Jon and Sara’s at four in the afternoon. I was completely bored at my sister’s, and I needed to get at least an hour jump on the drinking if I was going to have any shot at making it through the night. I brought a bottle of wine and handed it off to Sara as she opened the door, “David, what a surprise, you’re here early.”
“Yeah, well, I was a bit bored at my sister’s.”
“Thanks. Can you be a dear and bring that over to the bartender?” She asked, handing me the wine back and pointing to this year’s bartender. “Oh, I almost forgot, here’s your place-card. This year’s theme is revenge.” She handed me a nine of clubs that had my picture in the place of Jamal Mustafa Abdallah Sultan Al-Tikriti, the Deputy Head of Tribal Affairs Office, from one of the Iraqi most-wanted cards. “You’re the nine of clubs. Wait till you see who the 10 of clubs is sitting next to you at dinner.”
“I can’t wait.” I needed a drink.
This house was huge. The entire downstairs appeared completely open. It must have been some sort of architectural trick. It looked like a kick-ass loft, but it was really a house. There were marble floors and two circular staircases at either end of the house. There was a formal living room and multiple, additional sitting areas lined with couches and plush chairs, Jon’s built-in bar in one corner of the downstairs, and a dining area with a table that could seat at least fifty. Even with this gigantic table it looked like there was plenty of room left for the wait staff to serve dinner.
The cool thing about this house was you could see into nearly every area at once. In fact, you could see the gourmet kitchen from the living room, sitting areas and from the dining room. It was crazy. I walked over to the bar. The bartender was setting up shop. I bellied up to the brand new cherry-wood bar and handed over my bottle of wine to the barkeep. “I’ve got this bottle of wine for you.”
“Thanks.” I sensed he was less than thrilled about my wine offering.
“I’ll have a G&T.” My standard.
“Getting an early jump on the night?” he asked, as he mixed.
“Might as well. I don’t really have anything better to do and, believe me, I need a drink. So, how come you’re bartending instead of ringing in the New Year?” I asked.
“I need the money. I’ve been unemployed for the past ten months. My unemployment just ran out.” Sucker.
“I’m unemployed, too. Actually, I kind of dig it.”
“You must be in the honeymoon period. I loved it, too, the first month. I was able to finally take a break from work for the first time in over three years. I was psyched.” I suspected a ‘but’ was coming.
“Three years? What the hell did you do?”
“I was an investment banker. I even have an MBA. Now I’m tending bar. The fucked up thing is I kind of like just being a bartender. It’s therapeutic.”
“Shit! I’m a lawyer. I used to work at an investment bank, too. Let me run something by you. I was thinking about writing a book instead of getting a job. You know - follow my dream. I just don’t think I can go back and work in a cubicle. It will kill me.”
“I guess that’s okay. Only problem is making money. I wanted to write movies, but here I am - bartending - because I need the cash. I wish I were stuck in a cubical.”
“I guess the next stop for me is bartending,” I said, feeling suddenly depressed.
“If you’re lucky. I had to interview for this job four times. It was harder than getting my job at the bank. I took $250 out of my $405 a week and went to bartending school.”
“Holy Shit!” I said, baffled.
Sara walked over and pulled me away into the living room. I could see chefs in their white hats way off in the kitchen busily preparing the night’s feast. I liked the layout of this house and I liked that chefs were working out the menu. Dinner was going to be good.
“Now you chit chat with the help? What the hell has happened to you?” Snooty Sara asked.
“Did you know that your bartender has a MBA, and was an investment banker? It’s sick!” I still couldn’t believe it.
“Forget about that. Who cares? I have a surprise for you tonight - you want to guess what it is?” Sara asked.
Ladies and gentlemen, playful Sara, ready to wreak havoc on my life.
“Did you get me a job?” I was terrified to hear the real answer.
“Better. It’s so exciting. I want to tell you, but I’m going to wait.”
Goody Gumdrops. I can’t hardly wait.
Sara scampered off - probably to yell at the chefs. “You’ll see,” she called back to me, giggling to herself.
“Jon!” I yelled, walking back to the bar to have the bartender fix me another G&T. “Jon!”
Jon suddenly appeared. “Dude, relax. What’s with the yelling?”
“Your wife, that’s what’s with the yelling. She just told me she has some sort of surprise brewing for me. That makes me very nervous. What the hell is it?”
“I have no idea. She won’t tell me, either. Believe me, I begged her to tell me, but she won’t budge. It can’t be that bad.”
“Or that good.”
“Dude, relax and have a few drinks. Everyone will be here soon,” Jon ordered a G&T for himself, drained it in thirty seconds and declared, “God, I hate throwing these things.”
People started to filter in around 5 o’clock, bearing alcoholic offerings to Jon and Sara. I sat at the bar and continued to get sufficiently trashed. Peter, Matt, and Dan finally all arrived with their wives in tow. It didn’t take very long for us to meet at the bar.
“Michaels, what is the deal?” Peter asked.
“Deal with what?”
“Dude, you’ve been living on Michelle’s air mat for the past three months, you pretty much disappeared for the last month, and we haven’t heard a peep about any girl since you and Erica split up. What the hell have you been up to?” Fair question.
I told them the story about Piggy, conveniently leaving out the parts where I met her on JewDater, that I was her bitch, and then was dumped by her. I happen to like my new version much better. In my new version, I met “Alison,” the 21 year-old with a tongue ring, at a club one night. We were immediately into each other, so we went back to her place to fool around. After that, we started seeing each other. Of course, I would sleep at her place. No one even got to the end of the story, they all stopped at the ‘21 part,’ and gasped.
“No fucking way,” Peter said.
“That had to be amazing. I wish I fooled around with a girl with a tongue ring. Somehow we missed all that piercing and shit. We were born too early. Today all these girls have tongue rings and eyebrow rings, tattoos and have threesomes. God damn it! I want to have a threesome with a tongue-ring girl,” Matt said, trashed.
I went on to explain that we saw each other for a couple of months. I would call her when I wanted some sex, go over to her apartment, and get some. Eventually, I told them, I got sick of her and the tongue ring, so I called it off.
“What the fuck is wrong with you? You were with a 21 year-old, who liked you, no less, and then you dumped her?! Are you out of your fucking mind?” Peter was pissed.
“You must be,” Dan added, bewildered.
“It just wasn’t right,” I said in my defense.
“Wasn’t right? Wasn’t right! Take a look over there at Tammy. I’m married to a woman who doesn’t bother closing the door to the bathroom when she takes a shit, has gained thirty pounds, and hasn’t given me a blowjob in the last three years. Wasn’t right! You better start making it right and start giving out some details,” Dan yelled, fully inebriated.
“I’m telling you. You would have done the same thing. It just wasn’t right,” I was pleading my case.
“Oh, my God, he’s gone mental,” Matt exclaimed. “Buddy, get a grip.”
We went on joking around for an hour or so, wife-free. But, of course, all good things must come to an end.
Tammy was the first wife to mosey our way, “I couldn’t take it over there anymore. Those women are nuts.”
Tammy was the one wife I could handle being around.
“All they talked about were manicures. Manicures! For an hour and a half! It didn’t matter how much I drank at that point, I just couldn’t sit there anymore.”
Dan and Tammy were the last couple to hold out and live in the city. They were married about a year ago and were still fun to hang with. The others usually went home around 10, claiming that they had a long drive ahead of them. Yikes! My dad would say that exact same thing when we were at my grandmother’s house. My friends really were becoming like my dad.
Dan and Tammy moved out of the city three months after they were married. After all, Peter and Matt were already living in houses. Dan and Tammy couldn’t just sit idly by and let other people pass them on the social ladder.
“Hi, David. So, what’s going on?” Tammy asked.
“Nothing much. Just looking for a job and stuff,” I said, not bothering with details.
“Any girlfriend yet?” They loved that question.
I said with a sad face, “Not yet. I was seeing a girl, but we just couldn’t quite connect. I need the connection,” I said.
“Oh, that’s too bad. I’ll keep my eyes open for you.”
I feigned some sort of excitement, and thought, ‘Wow, that’s just super, Tammy!’
“Please do,” I said.
I saw the other wives making their way over to the bar. I couldn’t have this conversation two more times. I got up and walked around a little. The three strong G&T’s were settling in quite nicely. I knew about half of the people here. Everyone was accompanied by their significant other. I could get used to living out here in the suburbs, I thought. Especially if this was my house. Maybe all these couples were onto something. You get the car, the property, the peace and quiet. It was nice. I was waxing poetic in my mind about the virtues of suburban life, meandering about in a daydream, although some might say a drunken stupor, when I tripped over a some leprechaun doll. Somehow, I had wandered into a play room off the living room.
“Are you okay?” this gorgeous girl asked me.
“I think so. I can’t believe that doll tripped me, what a prick,” I said.
The leprechaun doll had an evil smirk on its face. It freaked me out.
“Forget that whole pot of gold thing...leprechauns are nasty sometimes,” she laughed, while she helped me up.
Once the spinning stopped, I was awestruck. This girl was beautiful. “What’s your name?” I asked her.
“Karen,” she said, as we shook hands.
Good thing I was dressed up for this party and not in my usual uniform - jeans and a t-shirt. I had on a black casual suit - no tie. Karen was impeccably dressed, too. She had on a little, black, revealing dress, a pretty diamond necklace, diamond earrings and black shoes with a very high heel. How do women walk in those things?
“Karen, eh? I’m David Michaels,” I was enchanted.
We sat down and talked about life for a bit. I was explaining the finer points of being unemployed, when she interrupted me and explained that she, too, was unemployed.
“I actually kind of like it,” she said.
I couldn’t disagree. Actually, I was so mesmerized by her that I was set to agree with anything she said. Her blond hair and green eyes had a spell on me.
“You know I live on an air mattress,” I confessed.
“What?” she looked very confused.
“On an air mattress. On my sister’s floor.”
There, ladies and gentlemen, is the straw that would most assuredly break the camel’s back. Good thing we were isolated in the playroom. I didn’t need everyone at the party to know what a loser I was.
“I used to live in this amazing, one-bedroom sublet in TriBeCa for six-hundred a month. It even had this incredible balcony that overlooked the Hudson River. The guy who owned it lived in Italy with his wife. He was actually going to give me the apartment, but then he decided to leave his wife. Then he kicked me out.”
“Sad story,” she said. “I would kill for a one-bedroom apartment.”
“The worst part is he called me about three months after I moved out and told me I owed him $300 for the cable bill. I told him that was impossible since I canceled the cable. Then he told me I owed him $150 for the phone bill. I told him that was a lie. Then he said I owed him 250 for a shower curtain. I said, ‘$250 for a shower curtain? He said, ‘no, $2.50. I said, ‘cash or a check?’ He was nuts.”
“Oh, my God,” Karen laughed. “He does sound crazy.”
Karen was laughing and acting a little flirty. Granted, I was drunk, but she was flipping her pin-straight hair and touching my shoulder, especially, when she said, “You’re so funny.”
While I was enjoying Karen’s praise of my comedic skills, Sara came running into the playroom looking for me. No! Go away, Sara! Karen and I are going to fall in love and live happily ever after! I tried hiding under the princess castle, but she found me.
“I’ve been looking all over for you. C’mon! Your surprise is here.”
Sara dragged me out of the room. She pulled me through the living room, past the bar over to the kitchen where my surprise was waiting for me. And man, was I surprised! I heard, “I’ll cash that rain check now,” and nearly fainted. Standing before me was Ms. Tiramisu. Why the fuck was she here?
“David, look. It’s the ten of clubs, Nicole. I know you guys have been trying to get together for a few months, but Nicole has been a busy, little girl. I thought this party was the perfect opportunity for you two to catch up,” Sara said, beaming.
Yeah, Sara, I see who the fuck it is. She looked even worse than I remembered, except this time I was completely fixated on the mole. The light in the kitchen did her no justice. I could see clearly that the mole hair had grown longer these past few months. Shit. Fuck. Insert expletive here. What the fuck was I gong to do now?
“I’m so happy to see you. I had such a great time on our last date, and when Sara told me you were going to be here I just had to show up,” Tiramisu was utterly excited.
I didn’t know how to respond. I know I wanted to ask Sara what the fuck she was thinking by inviting Tiramisu here. I also wanted to tell Tiramisu that she made my stomach turn. Thank God, I was liquored up.
If I was in the wild, and this piggy came sniffing around the camp after I shooed it away once, I would go back in my tent, get the12-gauge shotgun, and put two craters the size of Tiramisu's mole though it’s head. Unfortunately, this was the civilized world. All I could do was stand here and take it like a man.
“Hi, Nicole,” I said, looking for an exit.
“You two look so great together,” twittered Sara. “Okay, you kids have fun. I have to go play hostess.” Sara left me standing there with the pouch-ridden Tiramisu. This was a nightmare. I looked over to the chefs for help, but they just stood there chopping shit up. Help a brother out, I pleaded with my eyes.
“Oh, my God, this is going to be so much fun. You know I was watching this great show last night and the funniest thing hap -,”
“Do you want to get a drink at the bar?” I had to interrupt her. She was killing me.
I couldn’t stand here alone with her for one more minute listening to her drone on about television. She was sad proof that people really did sit in front of their televisions all day watching sitcoms and reality shows.
We strolled across the kitchen, living room and multiple sitting areas until we found our way back to the bar. This house was beautiful. What the hell was I doing on an air mattress? When we got to the bar, a chorus of comments rang out from my now drunken friends and their wives.
“There he is,” Pete yelled out.
“Where’ve you been?” Dan asked.
“Oh, you are a bad boy, where’d you pick this one up?” Matt said, laughing.
Jon was sitting at the bar, and when he saw who I walked over with, his eyes almost popped out of his head.
“Hi, Jon,” Nicole jumped in.
“Oh, hi, Nicole. I didn’t know you were coming,” Jon blurted out.
“Yeah, I know. It’s a surprise for David.” She looked everyone over. “You know, me and David went out a few months ago, and now we finally get to have our second date tonight. Isn’t that romantic?”
I spit my drink out. Actually, the drink sprayed out of my mouth in a manner you would see on a really bad television show. How apropos. Second date? What the fuck!
The girls, upon hearing the news, reverted back to their single days and were swept away by how exciting it must be to have such a romantic second date. The guys stared at the mole. Then Matt’s wife, Jen, jumped in, “The best part is you know you two are going to kiss tonight. After all, it’s New Year’s Eve. It’s so romantic.”
There was no way a kiss was going to happen. Maybe I’d try to trim the mole hair if I could find a hedge trimmer.
I left Nicole talking to Lisa and went around to Jon’s side of the bar to order a drink.
“Dude, what the fuck is she doing here?” I asked Jon.
“I have no idea. I can’t believe Sara invited her,” Jon pleaded with me to believe him.
“We have to get rid of her. I can’t spend the whole night with her.” Then it hit me, “Oh my God, I left Karen. I have to find her.”
“Who is Karen?” Jon asked.
“This beautiful girl I met when I tripped over some doll and landed in your playroom. I have to find her.”
“Karen, what? I don’t think I know anyone named Karen?” Jon said, perplexed.
“I’ll find her, and then show you,” I said. Tiramisu was waving to me and mouthing “I miss you.”
Miss me? What’s next, she loves me? How did this happen? I think Sara has a way of setting me up with needy women. At least in college I fooled around with Sara’s friend before she thought the friend and I were a couple. This one was fucking nuts.
“I’m going to kill Sara,” I grumbled, sucking down my G&T.
A bell started ringing throughout the house. Then came Sara’s voice over an elaborate intercom system: “Everyone, dinner is now served. Please make your way to the dining room. Dinner is now served.”
Dinner indeed. I knew one thing for sure. I wasn’t having Tiramisu for dessert.