“Wear those tonight. Oh, and shave the beard. Or at least trim it, especially all the hair on the neck. And promise me, whatever you do, no weird hat or trench coat. It makes you look like Jack the Ripper.”
“But women like mystery.”
“Not that kind of mystery. Women don’t want to feel like they’re being followed by a flasher.”
“I would never sully the delicate eyes of ladies with such lewd and indecorous behavior! Is that really what you think of me?”
“No, I think you’re an awkward kid who needs some help with girls, and unfortunately, the way you behave sometimes makes you seem like a sexual predator. I know it sounds harsh, but I’m only saying this because I’m your friend.” He got off the bed and put his hands on Nathan’s shoulders. “You’re an awesome guy waiting to happen. Tonight, you are going to make it happen.”
Emily
The kitchen looked like it had been ransacked. Dirty plastic food containers and silver Pop-Tart wrappers littered the counter. A half-eaten Twix bar and several Chinese food delivery menus sat next to the landline telephone.
Upstairs, Emily found David in bed, chomping on a raspberry Pop-Tart.
“Sweetie, are you okay?” she asked.
“Under the circumstances.” He let out a little weird laugh. “Ready to hear something fucked up?”
“What? What the hell is going on?”
“I heard from Zach. I can’t reach Robert. All the money from the second round—all the BluCapital funding—Robert transferred it to his personal account in the Caymans. He’s left the country.”
Blood drained from Emily’s face. “What?”
“You can read it for yourself—it’s all over the internet. Zoogli was a Ponzi scheme. The SEC is investigating. They’ve padlocked the offices.”
She sat down on the side of the bed and tried to breathe deeply. On some level, she hoped that asking enough questions would change the narrative—that this would all turn out to be not nearly as bad as it originally sounded. But her gut knew better. Something was wrong. She should remember this feeling and compare it against all the other times she felt something was “definitely” wrong, like the month she suspected her landlord was a serial rapist because he drove a white van. This went beyond anxiety. Her whole body felt like it was prepared to literally fight an incoming enemy. But what enemy? Financial ruin? Great instincts her caveman ancestors gave her—if only they could be used for modern predicaments. “So you...you don’t have a job?”
“Nope,” David said, finishing off his Pop-Tart and licking crumbs off his fingers.
Emily’s vision blurred and she felt like she was going to faint, just like how she felt right before her first pelvic exam. If only seventeen-year-old Emily knew how much worse it was going to get. And the doctor didn’t even put a finger up her butt like she had feared. “What are we going to do?”
“Don’t you realize?” He sat up in bed. “We can do anything. That’s what’s so amazing about this.”
“Amazing?”
“Look, you hate working for Linda. So quit. Let’s travel for a few months. We have enough money saved up. So many of our friends are still in student loan debt, we’re better off than you think. We can stay at hostels—it won’t even cost that much. You’ve always wanted to go to Italy!”
“Italy?”
“Totally! I mean, when else are we going to get to do this? This is the kind of thing we should be doing while we’re still young and don’t have kids.”
Emily put her head in her hands and began to quietly weep.
“What? What’s wrong?”
“You’re just so sweet.” She hugged him and tried to disguise her tears by letting them soak into her hair. Between them there was the baby, still blissfully unaware of how shitty his life was going to be.
NIGHT 5, PART 1: THE BOYS
Jason
“NOW THIS IS what I’m talking about,” Jason said. Nathan had showered. His hair was washed and combed. He wore a crisp, white collared shirt and a navy blazer.
“You’re not quite a five yet,” Jason said, standing behind him and inspecting him in the mirror. “But you’re at least a four. Maybe even a four and a half.”
“Gadzooks.”
“Every time you say that shit you’re back to a three.”
David
“You boys are just precious!” Susan admired the groomsmen as they gathered in the kitchen for a round of Chivas before heading out. They were all dressed in a uniform of slim-fit jeans and collared shirts, except Matt, who wore a retro colorblock polo shirt and a pair of awkwardly cropped chinos that revealed his skinny ankles.
“Let me just get one picture of you boys to put on social media.” She held up her iPhone. “One, two...three! Oh, wait. Sorry. I just took a picture of myself by accident. Selfie! Let’s try this again.”
* * *
“I’ve walked past those chicks four times now, and they were taking group selfies every single time,” Jason said. “That’s the problem with young women. They’re hot, but they’re idiots.”
“You know,” Mark said, taking a sip of his drink. “I’m sure one of those women has walked by us four times, and she’s going back to her group of friends saying, ‘What is it with thirty-year-old men? Every time I walk by them they’re ordering more drinks.’”
“Fair point, but tonight is the night to drink. It’s David’s last night as a free man!”
“I’m wondering if this isn’t the best place,” David said, looking around. Glo-Fi had been Kevin’s choice. He insisted it was one of his DC friends’ “favorite New York hotspots.” Nobody thought to question why an unnamed person from Washington, DC, had become the authority on New York City bars. The Glo-Fi crowd was mostly under twenty-five, and in the past hour the DJ had played six Selena Gomez songs. David cringed when he saw a few twenty-three-year-old frat boys ordering Fireball shots and chanting, “What happens in Glo-Fi stays in Glo-Fi.”
“I get what you’re saying,” Jason said. “It’s not wild enough.”
“It’s not that,” David said. “I feel like Chris Hansen is going to show up and ask me to have some lemonade.”
“It’s your last night out as a single man and you’re complaining that the women around you are too young? What’s wrong with you?”
“That’s what’s wrong,” David said, pointing to a possibly underage girl crying hysterically on the floor of the bar, mascara dripping down her face, while her five best friends stroked her hair in unison.
“It’s not so bad,” Kevin said. “Trust me, my buddy Conner knows New York. Have you guys heard of this place called Magnolia Bakery?”
“I agree with Kevin,” Jason said. “Just wait for this place to heat up. Minus that one crazy chick, most of the people here are still just on their fourth drink of the night. They’re practically sober.”
David, woozy from Chivas and Vicodin, looked around the bar. The women looked as if they had agreed on a uniform before going out: black leggings, loose tank tops, weather-inappropriate paisley scarves and no makeup. They looked like tired art students picking up tofu burgers at Trader Joe’s.
“I’m surprised you’re defending this place,” he said. “The girls here aren’t even that sexy.”
“I get it, the girls are a little Oberlin-y.” Jason took a sip of beer. “But it’s still early. The girls in short skirts will show up later.” He turned to Nathan. “So you going to try your moves on some girls in this bar? No time like the present.”
Nathan frowned. “This one looks fairly decent, I suppose.” He motioned toward a freckled girl in her early twenties with a red floppy bun. She wore a khaki green utility jacket and ripped jeans. Despite her aggressively low-effort styling, she was cute. Nathan straightened his blazer and walked over.
“Greetings, milady,” he said, jumping in front of her. “Y
ou look...dare I say...quite stunning tonight.”
David cringed as he watched Nathan bow his head, take her hand in his, and plant a long, slow kiss on it.
“What is thy name, milady?”
“I’m...Erin.”
“Erin, what a lovely name. Care for a potable—”
“Hey there, Erin,” Jason said, squeezing in between her and Nathan.
“Hi.” She crossed her arms.
“You’ve got nice fair skin,” Jason said. “Too bad that means you’ll age like milk. Gotta keep up on the Botox. I’m just kidding.”
“Fuckwad.” Erin walked away.
Nathan turned to him. “Jason, I trusted you! Why did you scare off that fine maiden with your words of discouragement? Such an indecent thing to—”
“Stop it. That’s how you talk to women. It makes you seem higher value.”
“Let’s forget about girls for once,” David groaned. “Who wants to get pizza?”
“Pizza?” Jason raised an eyebrow.
“Yeah—I haven’t eaten pizza in years. And Mark agrees this bar sucks.”
“It does suck,” Mark said. “And if the bachelor wants pizza, give the man pizza!”
“Okay, buddy,” Jason said, “we’ll get some pizza, but I think it’s more important that we drink our nuts off and find some strippers.”
“No strippers,” David said. “Who wants doughnuts? Anyone?”
“Are you okay?” Kevin asked.
“He probably still has some Vicodin in his system,” Mark said, sipping his beer while he browsed Amazon for strollers on his phone. “I prescribed 300 milligrams, but maybe he should taper.”
“I’m just trying to enjoy the night,” David said. “I was on Vicodin in high school when I sprained my ankle and I drank and I was fine. It’s not like I’m driving. Jason, do you know any good clubs? But not strip clubs, just fun clubs with good music. I want to let loose tonight.”
“You certainly are making a fast recovery,” Kevin said, amused.
“Like I said, it’s the Vicodin,” Mark said. “He’ll feel like shit tomorrow. Make sure he doesn’t have another drink.”
“Stop talking about me when I’m right here,” David said. “Who’s down for a club?” As much as he knew it was against the official code of bachelor parties, he wished Emily was there. Emily still loved going to clubs with him as much as she did when they first met. She had resisted the late-twenties urge to brag about how tired, busy and bored she always was, and how the only thing she enjoyed was watching Netflix. They had their nights in, of course, but Emily often said she liked to treat every date as though it was a first date, complete with spending two hours to get ready.
Jason sighed. “We’re a group of six dudes. The only way we’re getting into a club is if pretty boy Kevin blows the bouncer.”
“Oh, fuck off,” Kevin said, laughing.
“The truth is,” Jason said, “the only place we can go where we’ll actually get in, and get bang for our buck, is a strip club.”
“No way in hell,” Mark said. “Strip clubs are the exact opposite of ‘bang for buck.’ Men shell out huge sums of money just to pretend that women like them, and then they don’t even get anything out of it.”
“Not if you know my tricks,” Jason said. “Come on, guys. David—you said you wanted to let loose. Let’s do it.”
* * *
A wiry little stripper with fried-off hair slid down the pole in her finale and collected the tips on the stage floor that weren’t already stuffed in the back of her lime-green G-string. David looked to his left and saw that Jason was mesmerized, like a child staring at a Christmas tree for the first time.
“Can I get you boys anything?” The cocktail waitress wore thick eyeliner and a tight black dress that barely covered her butt.
“I care not for a lap dance, my fair lass,” Nathan said, waving her off. “For I am a man of higher station than any of the brazen wenches in this establishment. Sully me not with your debauchery!”
“Sir, I’m asking you if you want a drink. I’m not a dancer.”
“Oh. In that case, I shall take a glass of red wine. Your finest.”
“And the rest of you?”
“Four Sam Adams,” David said, clearly throwing Mark’s caution to the wind.
“Anything else?” the waitress asked.
“And five—no, make it seven—shots,” Jason added. “Jäger.”
“Seriously?” Mark laughed. “Seven? There are only six of us, and only five of us are drinking.”
“I know, genius. One for each of you betas, and three for me.” He leaned in to the others, speaking confidentially. “Gotta pregame for the champagne room. That’s where they take you for the threesomes.”
“You’ve had threesomes with strippers?” Mark asked.
“No. But my buddy Chris did, back in college.”
“The only thing less believable than a guy telling you he had a threesome with strippers is a guy telling you that his friend you’ll never meet had a threesome with strippers.”
“Go back to shopping for diapers on your phone, dude. Leave the strippers to the single men.”
“Fine by me.” He took his phone out again. David looked over and saw that Mark was texting Gabrielle. That reminded him, he should text Emily. He didn’t want her to worry, which she often did when it had been a few hours without contact. When he opened his phone, there were already two texts from her. The first said: Love you, baby. Thinking of you! The second was an inexplicable picture of her boobs, sent two hours later.
Kevin leaned over. “Are those Emily’s boobs?”
“Uh...no,” he said, quickly putting his phone away.
“So you were looking at porn...at a strip club? Man. That’s sad.”
“Shut up,” David said. “It just popped up.”
“Sure, I’m sure it was random. You were holding it for a friend, right? Classic.”
When Kevin wasn’t looking, David pulled out his phone again and wrote back to Emily. Wow, very nice. Love you, sweetie. He considered adding that her boobs were nicer than any of the strippers’ boobs but then remembered she might not like him being at a strip club at all. He sent a second text. I wish you were here.
* * *
“So you must do a ton of crunches, right?”
David was on his third beer, which Mark strongly advised against, sitting at a table with a stripper named Cynthia. She was pushing forty but had an impressive six-pack.
“I guess so.”
“I haven’t been able to work out since I hurt myself. But you know what I learned? I don’t have to go to the gym every day. I’ll survive, you know? It’s incredible to know that. That injury was the best thing that could have happened to me.”
“I thought you said losing your job was the best thing that could have happened to you.”
“That too. I mean, we’re free now, you know? Really free. After the wedding, we can do whatever we want. We can take our savings and move to Bali.”
“Bali?”
“Fuck yeah! We’ll live off the land! We’ll dance on the beaches and shit!”
The stripper took this in. “I don’t know. Bali? I mean, I like where you’re going with this, but Bali seems like a predictable choice.”
“Eh, good point.”
“I wish I had your attitude. Hell, every day I worry this place is going to kick me out for getting too old. The funny thing is, I still do really well with the college-aged boys. They all have these MILF fantasies. Blame porn, I don’t care. It’s the guys my own age who aren’t interested. I guess I remind them of their impending mortality.”
“You have a point about Bali. Maybe I’ll open a restaurant. Or become a basketball coach. I don’t have to be over six feet to be a coach, right? Or maybe I could start my own company. What if I bec
ame a farmer?”
“Everybody wants to be a farmer. It’s all that farm-to-table crap. It’s kind of a saturated market.”
“Maybe.”
She smiled at him. “You’ll figure something out.”
“Thanks,” he said. “I don’t mean to sound creepy, but you remind me of my mom. She’s dead.”
Jason
“I’m Judi and this is Diamond.”
The two strippers led Jason into the Champagne Room. Other than the champagne itself, there was little to suggest that the room deserved its designation. The lights were dimmed to hide the scuffs on the walls, and the red shag carpet resembled a skinned Muppet.
“Is this where the...magic happens?” Jason asked. The moment he said it he realized these women might not have been old enough to get a reference from Celebrity Cribs.
“One hour in the champagne room is $500,” Judi said. “If you actually want to drink the champagne, that’s another $100.”
Jason pulled the champagne out of the ice bucket. It wasn’t a brand he recognized. Its metallic, hot pink label read Classique Strawberry Champagne and in small print below that, Champagne Beverage.
“Okay.” He had blown through his cash and was now using his credit card.
“And there’s a ten percent service charge,” Judi said, brandishing an iPad with a Square device attached to it. Jason felt as if he were at the AT&T store, setting up his new phone plan.
Diamond popped the champagne and poured him a glass, then poured glasses for herself and Judi.
“So let’s begin,” Judi said. “You mind if I make out with Diamond?”
“Mind?” Jason laughed. “Get your freak on, ladies!”
“Okay then.” She put her hand behind Diamond’s blond hair extensions and opened her mouth wide, the way people do when they are putting their fists in their mouths on a dare. The two women lunged at each other’s faces for a while, sticking their tongues out strenuously.
Jason reached out to touch Judi’s thigh. “Mind if I...”
“Oh, you paid just to watch us,” said Judi. “If you want to touch, that’s another $200.”
David
Family and Other Catastrophes Page 21
