As excited as I am to see him, I can't deny I'm a bit disappointed. A part of me wanted to go and check out Vivi's place, find out more about where she lives. My intentions were to go to her apartment and wait for her to come home from work. But that will have to wait until tomorrow.
At seven, I enter Le Table. The hostess does everything but dry hump me as she seats me. Usually I'm interested in this sort of thing, and maybe would even give her my number, but not tonight. She can't hold a candle to Vivi. Her lips aren't as full, her eyes aren't as gray, and her lashes aren't nearly as long and lush. I'd also bet her pussy has been used and abused by a lot more than two men, and the thought of breaking that tight little thing in is worth the damn wait.
The waiter comes by and I order a Pappy Van Winkle as I wait for Harrison's ass to arrive. He's ten minutes late and I'm already on my second drink. They say you're supposed to savor bourbon that can run upward of two grand a bottle, but I don't. If I like the taste, I'll down it however I damn want to.
"How's the clean-up guy?" I say as I man-hug him.
"Good as ever."
"Hey, golden boy, you look very California-ish with that tan. You've been hanging out in a tanning bed or something?" I like to give him shit.
"Oh, yeah. My favorite thing to do. If you dragged your ass away from this cold piece of granite, I'd show you some sun on the beach."
He's always giving me hell about New York. "And check out those tats peeking out on your neck. Rocking new ink, huh?"
"Yeah, and I'll take that as a compliment."
"You should."
"I'm into skin art these days."
The waiter shows up and he orders some kind of single malt scotch shit. I hate that crap. Reminds me of my dad. After his drink is delivered we toast to our friendship and a great dinner.
He cocks his head and stares. "What's up with you?"
"What do you mean?"
"You don't look like you're on your usual Scotty game."
"Bullshit."
"No, man, I'm serious."
"Come on, Harry. Have you been talking to Westie?"
He holds both hands in the air. "No. I swear. I just know you like a brother. So what's the deal?"
"Family shit. What else? And Weston didn't fill you in?"
"Nah, you know how he is. He's tight as a drum."
I roll the tension out of my shoulders and proceed with, "You remember what happened last Christmas, right?"
"You mean the step-cunt fucktastrophe."
"We had another run-in. Only this time is was at a huge benefit that Whitworth sponsored. Dad called me out in front of a bunch of clients and it got pretty nasty."
"You're joking," he says, leaning on the table.
"Do I look like I am?"
"So what happened?"
"Granddad stepped in and he has so much clout that he diffused the situation. Dad left afterward. It was extremely awkward. Work has been a bitch since. Not that it's been great since Christmas, I'll admit."
"Your old man is a douche. Why don't you divorce him?"
"I wish he'd divorce the cunt he married, except they're the perfect couple."
"Dude, you should come to LA for a visit. Get away from here. Tap into some fresh, you know?"
The waiter shows up and hands us our menus. Harrison can't decide what to get for his entrée, so we just order appetizers and tell him to come back in a few minutes.
"It's a damn meal. If you can't decide, order two."
"Do you ever do that?" he asks.
"No, but you're whining like a girl, so I figured it would shut you up."
He laughs. "You're an asshole."
"It's my middle name."
Someone plunks a basket of bread on the table and Harrison grabs a slice, then slathers it with butter.
"Have you eaten today?"
"Yeah, why?" he says around the bread.
"Just curious."
We talk about more shit and I toy with the idea of telling him about running into Vivi, but I decide to keep her to myself. There's some strange reason I don't want to share her with anyone. I feel strangely possessive of her. And the problem is, after I've thoroughly fucked her, I'll want to own her, too.
" … the franchise?"
Harrison looks at me expectantly.
"Well?" he prods.
"What did you just ask me?" I down the rest of my drink and flag the waiter over to order another and while he's here, we give him our dinner order.
After he's gone, Harrison aims his finger at me. "See, I was right. You're not right. Something is fucking with you. Prescott Beckham is all about money and finance-except when he's got his dick buried balls deep in some woman's pussy. And right now, as far as I can tell"-he bends down and looks under the table-"there's not a woman giving you head, nor are you fucking one under the table. But I ask you about the franchise and financials with A Special Place, and you're a damn blank."
I wear a sheepish expression since he caught me in the act of thinking about Vivi. "Sorry. Guess my mind wandered."
"I'll say. Who is she? And the reason I ask is you're not wearing a pissed off as hell look that you'd normally reserve for your father. This is an altogether different look, more introspective I'd have to say."
"Is that so?"
"Yes, that's so. Give it up, Scott."
"Okay, you'll never guess who I ran into."
Our extremely efficient waiter-whom I'm going to heavily tip-delivers my drink.
"Jesus, tell me already. I hate when people fucking do this. Only girls do this shit."
"Vivi Renard."
"Who the fuck is that?"
He doesn't even remember her. "Yeah, you wouldn't recall. She went to Crestview with us."
He laughs. "Did you fuck her, like all the other girls there?"
"No, I didn't fuck her. Christ. I didn't fuck every single girl in school."
One brow nearly jumps off his head. "I'm not buying the Brooklyn Bridge, asshat."
"She did my homework."
The same brow sinks low, joining the other as he thinks hard. Those cogwheels of his analytical brain are spinning, but nothing is catching. "I only remember that fat chick you used to pay, but her name doesn't come to mind."
"That's the one."
"You ran into her? The brainiac? What is she? A nuclear physicist or something?"
"Not even close. She works in a coffee shop."
He leans back in his chair and blinks about forty times. "You're fucking with me. Not that girl. She's the one everyone made fun of. It was bad, man. The girls pretended they were elephants around her. They'd do this funny thing with their arms, swinging them like trunks." He does this half-ass imitation of it as he sits in his chair.
"That's pathetic. I never saw that." Suddenly, I feel pained for Vivi and how awful it must've made her feel. Am I developing a conscience?
He shrugs. "I don't know how you missed it. It was actually pretty hilarious at the time. Except now when I think about it, it wasn't really. It was quite terrible."
We're both silent for a while.
Then anger hits me. "Why didn't you say something? Call those bitches out?" My tone is harsh as I glare at him.
"Dude, everyone did it. Why would I have said something? She was a townie and all the kids made fun of her."
"Oh, I don't know. Because it was wrong, perhaps?"
"We were all assholes back then. And since when did you grow a conscience and become so worried about other people's feelings?"
I choose to ignore his question because it is unlike me. Thankfully, the waiter delivers our plates of steaming food. I've ordered a thick juicy bone-in rib eye and Harrison ordered some froufrou dish that I give him a hard time about.
"I watch what I eat, man, unlike you."
"Just like you gobbled down all that butter? And hey, I watch what I eat. I watch it go straight from my fork into my mouth." I chew my bite with gusto.
"I don't know how you stay so lean. So, tell me about Vivi Renard. Other than she works at a coffee shop."
After I swallow my tasty bite, I say, "I think she does something with their IT. But she's not fat anymore."
"No? What does she look like? I hate to say it, but I don't remember her face."
"Sort of average," I say in a nonchalant manner. But he doesn't buy it.
"Bull-fucking-shit. That's why you're off your usual Scotty game. It's Vivi, isn't it?"
"I don't know what you're talking about. I ran into her. That's all. But I didn't come here to discuss Vivi. I'm more interested in hearing about Midnight Drake and her kink."
He wipes his mouth with the napkin. "Why? So you can pick up a few pointers?"
"Maybe."
He pulls out his phone, but before he passes it to me, he says, "Your eyes only, Scotty. And you never saw this shit. Am I clear?"
"It's on your phone, not mine. Besides, I don't gossip."
"I know. But it had to be said. This shit was all over the place anyway. We were lucky to get it pulled as fast as we did."