Further Adventures of a Hot Chick - Part 3

By Sonia Ramos Rossi

We’re in the Hummer tonight (black, this year’s model). I always think it kind of suits Boyfriend, y’know, it’s such a masculine car, and he’s such a masculine guy. It’s so cool the way all the other little cars have to get out of the way when he drives up close behind them. Once he told me that the secret to driving a Hummer is to pretend there’s nobody else on the road. All the other cars will shift over if they know what’s good for them. Doesn’t apply to buses or trucks obviously. Or military convoys. Everybody else though.

DiMario’s is a small Italian restaurant where half the tables are in private cubicles and the pasta is the most expensive in town. You have to reserve weeks in advance unless you know the Maitre D, which Boyfriend does, of course. It’s the place where he always meets up with business associates and other acquaintances. The Johnsons are waiting for us when we arrive. That’s another one of those basic rules. Always make other people wait for you, not the other way around. At least half an hour, three quarters is better. I don’t know why I have to explain this stuff. It’s so self evident.

As we make our way to where the Johnsons sit waiting, Boyfriend greets the people at the tables we pass. Some people he shakes hands with, others he nods at. One guy he points his finger at, thumb in the air making an imaginary pistol, says "Pow!" I don’t know what that was all about. The whole restaurant thought it was really funny though. I’m right beside Boyfriend, holding onto to his arm. I love it when everybody looks at me.

The Johnsons have funny looks on their faces when we finally arrive at our table, but they quickly switch to smile mode. I give Nicky a peck on each cheek. Don’t actually touch her, of course. Mr. Johnson gives me a little squeeze just above my elbow as I air kiss him, then lets his fingers run all the way down my arm as we part, says "Delightful". Makes me feel a bit sexy. Boyfriend doesn’t notice, he’s busy doing the same to Mrs. Johnson.

We order drinks, Taittinger for a change. Boyfriend and Mr. Johnson talk shop. Something about "those fucking assholes." I’m not really listening. Decide to be pleasant to Nicky. "Anything good on daytime TV recently Nicky?" She starts telling me about some charity dinner she’s organizing, so I excuse myself and go to the ladies. That outfit really doesn’t suit her, all that yellow, eeuch.

I know everybody’s looking at me as I glide through the restaurant, but I act as if I don’t notice. A quick pee and a little line of coke in the ladies and I’m ready for dinner. If anything, it’s even more fun walking back to our table than it was going. Must be something to do with the coke. It does make me feel ever so generous and giving, so I flash a big smile at Nicky as I sit down.

She’s not looking at me though. She’s staring with her mouth hanging open at the two guys. Boyfriend looks angry. When he curls his lip like that it makes me frightened sometimes. I can’t tell what Mr. Johnson is thinking, he’s just staring at Boyfriend. Someone has knocked over a champagne glass; there’s broken glass and a spreading stain on the white linen tablecloth.

I don’t know what starts it all off, I suppose I don’t need to know. Boyfriend just goes crazy, throwing punches across the table, shouting "You’re gonna die, motherfucker! You’re gonna die!" Problem is, it’s too wide and all quick-foot Johnson has to do to avoid the blows is stand back from his side of the table. Nasty Nicky starts screaming as loud as she can so I give her a hard slap to shut her up. The silly cow starts attacking me! Can you believe it! I manage to rip one of her earrings out, right through the lobe, and smile as her lovely yellow twin-set gets nice and bloody.

Boyfriend has one knee up on the table in an attempt to climb over and attack Mr J., but he kneels on a shard from the broken champagne glass and ends up unbalanced. Johnson has the champagne bottle in his hand and smashes it into Boyfriend’s face with a loud crunch. Boyfriend goes down hard, sprawled across the table, face down. I know it’s all over.

Mr J. reaches over to my side of the table and grabs my arm so hard that I have to stop banging Nicky’s head on the table. He shoves me and I go flying under a neighbouring table. When I try to stand I bang my head and find that I’ve broken one of my heels. I start screaming "Did you see that? He hurt me! He broke my Manolos! Can you believe it!"

The Johnsons leave without a word. I carry on screaming until I realize everyone is looking at me again, and not in a good way.

Somehow I manage to get Boyfriend to the Hummer. He’s groggy, he’s lost one of his front teeth and he’s got a deep gash in his knee, but he can just about walk. The Maitre D bans us as we leave. Asshole.

It’s difficult to drive with a broken heel, so I drive barefoot, taking Boyfriend’s advice to drive as if there was nobody else on the road. It’s true; all the other little cars get out of the way.

When we get home I put him in the shower. He’s very quiet. I’ve never seen him like this before. When he’s finished I bandage his knee, then take a shower too. That nasty bitch Nicky scratched me in various places, but I’m OK. I scrub myself until my skin is red.

The bedroom is dark when I go in to him, but he’s not asleep. He’s lying on his back with arms and legs outstretched, belly sticking up in the air like a little mountain. I crawl into bed and put my head on his shoulder, snuggling into his armpit. His eyes are open, staring at our shadowy reflection in the ceiling mirror.

I reach down and scratch him gently at the base of his penis, the way he likes. No reaction, none at all, so I slide down the bed until my head rests on his stomach. I touch the tip of his penis with my tongue, lick off the hanging drop like a sad tear, then move down and take the head between my lips. It's shriveled like an old man's, so small I can suck the whole thing in my mouth. No reaction. I suck and lick until I give up and go to the bathroom.

Staring at my reflection in the mirror I say to myself, "I will not cry, I will not cry", even as the tears run down my cheeks.

© Sonia Ramos Rossi 2006

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