“You're not going to be lonely living here all alone?” I said, trying to find out what was flying around in that head of hers. The look on her face told me she was already sold.
“Lonely? You’re moving in with me, aren't you?” She looked at me like I’d just said the stupidest thing.
“Yeah, well I haven’t thought about it. You want me to?” In truth I had thought about it a lot, namely what was going to happen to B and I now that lawyers were dissecting her marriage and we had to move out of the beautiful mansion in the Hollywood Hills. Things were changing, big-time.
But like she wasn’t hearing me, she kept looking around with an excited sparkle in her eyes. She walked up to the large window with a majestic view over the Statue of Liberty and the ferries and said, “I think this is where I’m going to launch the new me. I can picture it. The easel over here, the paint stuff there, all the light a girl could need and quite a view for inspiration.”
“You sure you don’t want to see some other places? Get an overview before you make up your mind?” I said in an effort to steer B away from jumping the gun, since I couldn’t really trust her rationale at this point in time. Not that the apartment was in any way a bad choice.
“No, this is it, I feel it. Please make sure the paper-people look over the contract before we sign, Darryl. Other than that, it’s a done deal.”
And with that quick decision we were moving.
***
Cesar's crummy attic apartment was the antithesis to my new abode, but it still worked as the setting for our dinner preparations. And for him to be welcomed in a fine dining establishment his infamous dreadlocks had to go. He was hating me a little bit already.
“I got a job with this hair man, ain't no one complaining about my dreads at work or anything. I've had them for years now, don't force me to do this - this is who I am!”
“Cesar, I promise you this from the bottom of my heart: you will look ten times better without those moldy ribbons. It's a win-win. And it’s definitely not who you are.”
“It's a big fucking loss. You know the time it took me to grow these things?”
I laughed at my friend’s whimpering little baby face, “That's the most disgusting part of it all, don't you think it would do you good to wash your head for once? You don't need to have pets in your hair - get a cat.”
“I’m not doing it, man. I'd do whatever for you, you're my best bud, but I won't do this.” Cesar shook his head and I imagined ten thousand lice jumping on the floor. His stubborn resistance forced me to take the rabbit from the hat and disclose the secret to Cesar’s heart - money.
“What if I give you five hundred bucks to do it? I'll give it to you in cash today, pay whatever you want at dinner - all this just for cutting that disgusting hair of yours and helping me stalk B for one night. It's the best deal of your life.”
“Five hundred? To cut my hair?” Cesar seemed to think hard about this, but I already knew what his answer was going to be. Money talks and people listen. Usually.
“Fuck it, D. Fuck it! You need to help me cut them off and then shave the rest, okay? You know that character in the Bible, the guy with the strength in his hair, Samsung?”
“You mean Samson.”
“Yeah, Samson. It’s like I'm losing my powers, that's how serious this is! But if you feel this strongly about it...500 dollars,” Cesar grinned, “is not peanuts.”
“Sure, I'll help you cut it. It's a done deal then? Handshake?”
“Deal.” Cesar shook my hand and grabbed a huge lock of his hair, brought it to his mouth and kissed it. “Goodbye,” he whispered.
It was like Cesar became a new person after the shave and shower, like his whole personality and looks had drastically changed for the better. This could of course have been my imagination or prejudice against people with dreadlocks; because to me it's like this - if a hairstyle has “dread” in it, don't wear it. What kind of dread is that anyway, dread for showers and hygiene?
I looked at Cesar's shiny, shaved head, glistening in the lights from the adjacent skyscrapers and felt a smile creep onto my mouth. When things were up in the air, like they were with B and my job and everything, it was a nice feeling to be around a friend who you knew inside out and who you could relax with.
We took two rusty foldable chairs and sat down on the roof of his building. I held a chilled bottle of beer between my fingers and looked out over the city that was so much more than a city, it was an animal alive. The wind was picking up, but Cesar brought two quilts which we wrapped around us as we sat there contemplating what fate might have in store. Cesar was rubbing his head back and forward like he had a hard time believing he actually went through with the haircut, but I guess then he thought about the 500 dollars again and looked more content.
“You must really love this lady. All this just to find out if she’s sleeping with that dude.” Cesar gave me a look. He couldn’t drop the idea that my crush on B wasn’t going to pass like some kind of fever and at this point I was starting to think he was right. Somehow I had been tainted.
“Well, you shouldn’t complain, you look ten times better already and...500 dollars richer.”
Cesar smiled, “Now that it's done it's not so bad. I actually feel fucking sexy like this, like Timberlake when he lost his goldilocks and got his sexy back.”
“The little sexy you had, yes, I think you got it back. Cheers.”
We clinked our bottles as a toast to a friendship we’ve been able to sustain despite being fundamentally different in so many ways. I guess we have that thing that money can’t buy - just being comfortable around each other. In this day and age that’s worth a lot.
We silently watched the sun set before we had to make a move. My gut told me that B had probably finished her massage and was in her room, getting ready for dinner. It was therefore time we got ready too. After all, we were going to the same place.
“So how do you know the table you booked is in a place where they can't see us and we still can see them? I don't get that part of the plan?” Cesar was right to be concerned. My strategy had more holes than a golf course.
“I don't really know. I called them, asked them about the best table, they said it was booked and then I chose the one in the other end of the restaurant. According to the images on their website it’s quite big so we won’t be able to see them directly, but at least we’ll have an idea of what’s going on. And I bought a wig so they won’t recognize me.”
“You bought a wig? What the fuck? That's hilarious! You have it here?”
“It’s a plan B and I probably won’t need it. It's downstairs in my duffel bag with the rest of my clothes for tonight.”
“I need to see this!” Cesar was remarkably quick down the stairs and in less than a minute he was back wearing the medium-sized afro wig I had bought at a fancy costume shop in the Meatpacking district. He looked absolutely ridiculous.
“You bought this fucking thing to wear at a nice restaurant?” Cesar put both hands to his stomach because he was laughing so hard his intestines were about to come through his mouth. “This is the silliest thing I’ve ever seen! Now you try it!”
He removed the medium-sized afro and put it on my head. Then he adjusted it, took a step back and started laughing again, now with a finger pointed at my face. “Ha-ha-ha! It looks like you have an electrocuted hamster on your head.”
“Ha-ha,” I mock-laughed, “Thanks for filling me with confidence.”
“Well, if you bought it not to draw attention to yourself, I think you’re in for a rude awakening.”
I removed the wig, looked at my watch and said: “At least it doesn't itch. I'm going to take a shower now and get dressed. When I'm ready I hope you've stopped laughing and started taking this more seriously.”
“I cannot promise to be serious if you wear that wig, but I’ll do my best,” Cesar chuckled.
I put my beer down on the concrete floor, rose from my chair and said: “You think you're such a wise guy
without that stinky hair, huh? Just you wait and see what wig I bought for you!”
And with that false threat, I went to take a shower.
***
The restaurant was rustic with a modern touch, but suffered from horrible lighting due to bright red ceiling lamps hanging so low you were almost looking at them while you were talking across the table. I don’t know if it was intentional, because it seemed likely that the place had gotten its style by some hyped-up interior designer who didn’t see the place as somewhere you ate, but more like a statement. What that statement was, was hard to say, but they had used an awful amount of red, which instantly got on my nerves.
I looked over at my bald date for the evening and told him how elegant he was in his white shirt and black tie.
“Thanks, I haven’t felt this tidy since graduation, during which I was probably high and smelled of mushrooms.”
“Yes, but the mushrooms we’re having tonight are not for smoking,” I said as I scanned the wine list. There was plenty of choice, not as much as in Rome, but plenty.
“Stop being such a snob and pick a bottle.”
“I’m not going to ruin my meal because you’re eager to drink whatever’s in front of you. Order a beer or something.”
After making my mind up on the wine, I let me eyes search the room. We were alone except for an elderly quartet who were talking so loudly you would assume they had all decided to skip the hearing aids for the night.
Cesar arched his shoulders and adjusted his shirt collar like it was annoying the crap out of him, “This is like wearing a strait jacket. But I guess seeing you in that silly hair piece is going to make up for it.”
“Remember that we’re here to see if our friend Matteo is wearing a straight-jacket, nothing else. And besides, I saw you in a tie the other day, you didn’t look that uncomfortable?”
“Look who's all nervous and making bad jokes. It depends on what shirt it is and I much prefer the clip-on ties from this homicidal silk wire around my neck. Now what do we have to eat?” Cesar opened the menu and made a sour face, “Behold these prices! Seriously? What do they serve here, edible diamonds?”
“What are you complaining about? You’re not paying for anything. This does.” I held up my gleaming golden expense card and spun it around between my fingers.
“So what now? We just eat, drink and wait?”
“You don’t need to do anything really. Just pretend like you’re out to a regular dinner. And watch that front door like a hawk.”
“Yeah, I always do that when I go out. I’m working part-time as a spy,” Cesar snorted.
We ordered a full course meal: starters, mains and desserts. The service was flawless and the food and wine arrived promptly.
“This pasta is great,” Cesar said, not obeying any fancy dining principles and practically wolfing it down, making the tomato sauce splatter on his white shirt, “but it's not worth the money, I'm pretty sure I could make this at home.”
“Are you serious? You don't even know how to boil water.”
“Hey! That's not true - I boil kick-ass water, perfect temperature and everything. I made some herbal tea the other day, tasted a bit like sewage to be honest, but that’s the tea, not my water-boiling skills.”
“Everything's herbal with you,” I said and laughed and at the same time caught B and her “date” walking through the doors. She looked stunning in an orange dress, snake-skin clutch bag and black gladiator shoes. Her hair was shimmering like diamonds and Cesar must have noticed my gaze because he kicked me in the knee.
“Ouch,” I whined, “Why did you do that for?”
“You were about to salivate on the table, man. Are you trying to be the worst stalker of all time?”
I shut up and ate. Besides suffering from an unhealthy crush on a woman so far out of my league she was orbiting in another galaxy, I was worried about the high-risk game she was playing - what if someone snapped a photo and uploaded it to the Internet or sold it to a sleazy gossip mag? It was too easy to picture the headlines and it would definitely complicate the upcoming paper fights between her and her husband a great deal.
The couple were seated exactly where I had predicted and they couldn’t see us, but the problem I had underestimated was of course that neither could we see them.
“I have an idea,” said Cesar, like he was reading my mind. “I'll go out and smoke from time to time and on my way out I'll be able to catch a glance, see if they’re up to some hanky-panky stuff. I’m sure the Italian bastard won’t recognize me without my hair and no matter how strange it sounds, I’ve never met the love of your life before.”
“Can you stop that talk? It’s more complicated than that.”
Cesar burst out into a brief song, “That’s amore...”
“Scchhhhh! Keep your voice down!” I snapped.
“They can’t hear us from over there. Relax a bit, will you? You’ve had like three glasses of wine and you’re still tighter than a constipated banker.” Cesar gave me a prying look, “What exactly are you hoping to gain from this, man? Let’s say they’re up to no good, what are you going to do about it? Lie down and cry because the woman of your dreams fell for Spaghetti Banderas?”
Cesar was right. So what if she had feelings for Matteo and they were having an affair? What could I do about it? Run off to A and sell her down the river? Or just let things fall apart by themselves? Or quit because I can’t work alongside my broken heart? I realized I had no plan, I just had to know.
“I don't know, it matters to me, that’s all. We’ll see what happens.”
“That we’ll do,” said Cesar and sipped his beer.
Sadly, I soon understood how flawed my seating plan for the evening was. It struck me cold when I was about to put a truffle in my mouth and saw B heading our way. I quickly looked behind me to see why - the ominous restroom sign. It seemed like I couldn’t have picked a worse location for our restaurant stakeout. Cesar was on the phone with Rosa outside the restaurant so I was completely out in the open, ready to be spotted and embarrassed. Lacking a better plan, I hastily reached into my bag and put the wig on. Then I started thumbing on my mobile and pretended to be writing a text. I could feel her eyes pass over me as she walked by and I silently prayed that what she saw wasn’t her assistant with a dead hamster on his head.
But nothing happened. She just click-clock walked inside the ladies’ room and I immediately let out a gust of air. Phew, I thought to myself, the wig worked! I'm a genius!
But I was too early in congratulating myself because approximately one minute later my phone buzzed with a message. My first thought was that it was Cesar from the outside, understanding the danger of the situation or something, but the message header told me it wasn’t, it was B.
“Where r u?” the message said.
I instantly got all hot and cold at the same time, like half of my body were in the Sahara and the other half in the Arctic Circle. Chilly sweats. Why did she text me from the bathroom? I decided to play it cool:
“I'm out having a few beers with Cesar. How's dinner?” I clicked send.
The reply flew through the air and into my heart like a digital dagger.
“Are you possibly wearing a silly wig?”
Oh God, she knows! Sweat poured out of me. This was bad, very bad.
I decided to try one last shot at innocence. “No :) Whyr u adking?” my finger nervously mistyped before I corrected it and sent it.
Then B came out from the restroom and sat down opposite me with an angry glare. Suddenly I felt the wig itching. Itching like a muthafucka.
“Now can you tell me what the fuck this is about, Darryl?”
If you didn't think black people could blush, let me tell you...we can.
***
After getting told I'm a worthless, no-good, distrusting leech, which ended with B returning to her table furious and leaving me feeling as small as a pebble, I quickly paid the bill and left the fancy restaurant together with Cesar. He sug
gested a bar, while I thought jumping from the Brooklyn Bridge was a more apt solution to my problem.
“I think this is it,” I said, my voice cracking, “My employment is over, B will start a relationship with Matteo, A will hate me for not telling him about the sneaky Italian dude, which will definitely screw up my chances of another Hollywood job and I will be thrown out into the real world where there are no golden expense cards, no LA mansion and no red carpet events. What do I have left? Nothing!”
“This impression of a baby you’re doing is really great, but please stop.” Cesar said and took a huge draw on a cigarette, “Okay, your plan was pretty fucked up, but you shouldn’t assume complete defeat, not with your almost impeccable track record of serving her every need. So you might still have your job and your gold card, but the question that’s buzzing around in my shaved head like a giant bumblebee is if this pampered existence does more bad than good for you. It would probably be healthy to have your own place and your own credit card for a while.”
He was right. I’d become far too comfortable living someone else’s life and when I had started to mismanage my feelings around her, it was even clearer to me that I needed some kind of drastic change.
My friend rubbed his recently bald head for something like the fiftieth time and said, “Why not get your chunky butt out of that padded chair of yours and look for a job in New York? You can move in with me until you find a flat. See this as a chance to break free and stop sulking.”
“I’m not saying it’s a bad idea, but I’m not sure what I would do. I can’t afford opening up my own place yet, at least not the way I want it to be and I don’t feel like going back to a regular job either.” We were walking uptown and I was starting to think a beer wouldn’t be half-bad. A last one before I hit the hay and hopefully dreamt all my troubles away.
Cesar put his right arm around me, “You’re probably the smartest guy I know so I would be very surprised if you end up living in a cardboard box or move back in with your parents! You can do whatever you put your mind to; you just need to figure out where to put it.”
Hollywood Ass. Page 12
