Ghosts of Manhattan: A Novel(4)

Jerry orders two bloody bulls for himself. A Bloody Mary with beef broth mixed in. He always chugs the first and sips the second. He’s made this his thing. He loves playing the part. I get Maker’s Mark on the rocks. I usually start with beer to ease in but today want a quicker start. Ron and William both get vodka sodas, with Ketel One. Has to be with Ketel One or they get into a snit. Frank, of course, gets a bloody bull, but only one. Two would be to step out of his subservience and encroach on Jerry’s thing.

I look over at the jackets of Ron and William, unbuttoned while seated in the limo, now rebuttoned again, but just the top two. Ron and William are both slim with dark hair and small features. They’re sort of normal and nice-looking and both give the appearance that they’re good kids, which makes them seem twice as devious when they aren’t. The main differences between them are in the way they move and in about six inches of height. Ron is about six three and moves slowly like he’s stretching his limbs with each motion. His speech is slow to match. William is five nine and speaks and moves in a blur.

“What is it with these three-button jackets? Can’t you two wear a normal goddamn suit to the office?”

Blank looks back at me from both of them. Clearly they like the suits and had thought they were making a favorable impression.

I’m feeling a little tired and grouchy and go further. “You’re not in Milan. Go to Brooks Brothers and get a normal goddamn suit and save yourselves some money.”

Jerry chuckles. He enjoys humor abuse of anything thin and good-looking. The fat bastard looks like he just stepped out of a JC Penney catalog. Ron and William just look uncomfortable. Because I sign off on their bonuses, they are now in the difficult position of having to come up with a witty retort that shows they aren’t defenseless but that doesn’t piss me off either. Not exactly a fair fight. I feel a rising knot of shame at behaving like a bully, but knock it back down with another sip of bourbon that makes the ice slide against the front of my teeth.

I almost never give these guys a hard time, and they aren’t used to hearing me dig at them with an edge. They laugh softly and uncomfortably and feel around for firm footing to make a stand.

“My fiancée likes the suits,” William offers. “I go to a tailor in Midtown that her dad always used. She drags me in there once in a while to get a few suits and shirts made. The shirts are stupidly expensive.” He shakes his head.

“All for the ladies,” chimes in Jerry. He’s finished his bloody bulls and his first beer. He used to drink hard liquor but would pass out in bars and on sidewalks. Now if he sticks with beer through the night, he at least makes it home. He’s already got the wound-up look of a big drinking night. Jerry’s sobriety is like an unstable chemical compound. Pour in a little liquid and it teeters off to something explosive.

“What’s your excuse?” I look at Ron.

Feeling the pressure is diffused a bit, he shrugs. “Hey, I just want to be stylish.”

“Stylish? That crap will be in the back of your closet in a few years and you’ll be embarrassed you ever wore it. Better to be classic than stylish—it’s the difference between Mick Jagger and Huey Lewis.”

A moment later comes a heavy exhale through Jerry’s nostrils—a sort of half laugh to indicate, Good one.

“Tell me about this fiancée,” I return to William. My shame is back and winning. Need another drink. “When are we going to meet this gal?”

“We’re having you and Julia over on Sunday for the dinner party, remember?”

“Oh, yeah.” Crap, I had forgotten about that.

“I’m not invited?” Ron tries for mock astonishment but seems partly serious.

“It’s a dinner party with wives. You don’t have a wife, and you can’t bring a hooker. Jen’ll know.”

Ron seems satisfied. It’s not the kind of party he likes, anyway. Me either.

William turns back to me. “She’s great. She’s twenty-four, hot, great body. Likes to go out a lot, doesn’t mind me coming home drunk all the time.”

“That won’t last,” Jerry tosses in. “Trust me.” I think he’s referring just to the last point but could be any of them. Anyway, he’s right.

William nods to show that he’s considered this, then moves on. “Her guy friends from college are sorta lame. They’re like young kids, like they could be my little brothers.”

“Aren’t you twenty-six?”

“Yeah, but there’s something about being just out of college like these guys. They haven’t had enough time to grow up in the real world.” The real world, I think. You mean the limo ride we took to drinks and coke. “The girls seem my age, though. At least my age, maybe older. Weird.”

“She does have a tight little body, but that hasn’t slowed down your rub and tug routine.” Leaving nothing to chance, Ron makes sure the conversation goes to his comfort zone and gives his buddy a shove.

I play along. “You have a massage spot with a happy ending?”

Ron smiles. “Not a spot. The spot. Beautiful little Asian gals, and they’re amazing. They crawl all over you.”

Jerry leans forward, a little more interested. Frank has just been listening in this whole time and has nothing to offer. He seems like the kind of guy who has never had any ego tied up in girls. Everyone has a role. Helps to get comfortable with it. He just wants a nice, normal girl so he can settle that part of his life and not compete with other guys on it. He’ll probably end up the only one of us with a good marriage.