celebrities we’d spotted in Yoga class. I’d seen Cary Grant’s daughter the week before. Sara one-upped me because she told me she accidentally farted in class the day Madonna was doing down-dog behind her.
Pete looked surprised to see me parked on his floor.
“You’re here ?” he said.
I smiled, trying to imagine just how small his dick was.
“Come on, Trixie ,” he said. “I’m taking you home.”
“I don’t want to go home.”
“Yes, you do,” Pete said.
“Jacob doesn’t love me anymore.”
“Yes, he does. Even though you’re completely irrational, like all women are, he loves you.”
“He loves Nina,” I said.
“He doesn’t love Nina. Nina’s a disaster. Let’s go.” Pete pulled on my arm and I floated to the door with him, waving good-bye to Sara.
“Hey, Sara,” I said before I left, “do you think I should cut my hair? I’ve never had short hair.”
“I’ll cut it for you. It’ll be great!”
“Okay. Bye, Sara. Thanks!”
Before he took me home, Pete decided we needed to make a quick stop. He pulled in to a late night coffee shop, ordered me a double cappuccino on ice, and made me drink the whole thing. The instant brain-freeze did nothing but exacerbate my already excruciating headache.
“Let me tell you something about our little friend, Jake,” Pete said. “He isn’t like most guys, you know?”
“I know.”
“No, but do you really know? I mean here’s the deal, what do most guys want from a woman? I’ll tell you what we want. We want a warm body to sleep next to, preferably one with a nice pair of tits, maybe someone who’ll cook for us and fuck us on a regular basis. Pretty simple, huh? Now, what we don’t want is someone who’s going to come in and disrupt our lives and steal our souls. That’s what we fear most. We call it our freedom, but it’s our souls we’re talking about. You following me?”
I nodded.
“Okay, good. Now forget it. Forget all that ,” Pete said. “Because Jacob’s not like that. He’s never been like that. He’s a damn fool and he wants the exact opposite of that. He wants someone to obsess over, someone to possess his soul, and those are his corny words, by the way, not mine. It’s what he lives for. It’s what he thinks life’s all about . Do you get what I’m saying?”
I nodded again.
“So there you have it. Do with it what you will. Just don’t be so hard on him. Don’t worry so much. Shit, if I was him, I’d kick your ass, running-off and slamming doors and all that.”
“Pete,” I said, “he didn’t talk to me for hours. What was I supposed to think?”
“He’s Jacob . He’s weird , for Christ’s sake. Believe me, I’ve known him a lot longer than you have. I lived with him back when our apartment was six hundred square feet, and sometimes he’d go days without talking to me. That’s just the way he is. You better get used to it.”
When I walked in the apartment, Jacob was lying on the couch watching The Late Show with David Letterman . The sound was muted but I could see the screen—Pete Townsend was the guest. I interpreted that as a good sign. Pete Townsend wrote one of my favorite lines of all time: No one respects the flame quite like the fool who’s badly burned .
I wanted to whisper those words into Jacob’s ear. I wanted to remind him that I’d been more than just burned, I’d been practically incinerated. And not by some random guy, either, but essentially by the one man in the world who was supposed to protect me. That’s why I acted like a baby. I had scars. But my scars also served to instill a kind of reverence in me. Reverence that, during times of weakness, became shrouded in darkness.
I had a fleeting desire to ask Jacob to turn up the volume so I could hear Pete Townsend sing, but I thought better of that request. Jacob had a serious scowl on his face. I’d never seen him look so angry and I wasn’t sure what to do.
After I shut the door, Jacob flicked off the
Pete looked surprised to see me parked on his floor.
“You’re here ?” he said.
I smiled, trying to imagine just how small his dick was.
“Come on, Trixie ,” he said. “I’m taking you home.”
“I don’t want to go home.”
“Yes, you do,” Pete said.
“Jacob doesn’t love me anymore.”
“Yes, he does. Even though you’re completely irrational, like all women are, he loves you.”
“He loves Nina,” I said.
“He doesn’t love Nina. Nina’s a disaster. Let’s go.” Pete pulled on my arm and I floated to the door with him, waving good-bye to Sara.
“Hey, Sara,” I said before I left, “do you think I should cut my hair? I’ve never had short hair.”
“I’ll cut it for you. It’ll be great!”
“Okay. Bye, Sara. Thanks!”
Before he took me home, Pete decided we needed to make a quick stop. He pulled in to a late night coffee shop, ordered me a double cappuccino on ice, and made me drink the whole thing. The instant brain-freeze did nothing but exacerbate my already excruciating headache.
“Let me tell you something about our little friend, Jake,” Pete said. “He isn’t like most guys, you know?”
“I know.”
“No, but do you really know? I mean here’s the deal, what do most guys want from a woman? I’ll tell you what we want. We want a warm body to sleep next to, preferably one with a nice pair of tits, maybe someone who’ll cook for us and fuck us on a regular basis. Pretty simple, huh? Now, what we don’t want is someone who’s going to come in and disrupt our lives and steal our souls. That’s what we fear most. We call it our freedom, but it’s our souls we’re talking about. You following me?”
I nodded.
“Okay, good. Now forget it. Forget all that ,” Pete said. “Because Jacob’s not like that. He’s never been like that. He’s a damn fool and he wants the exact opposite of that. He wants someone to obsess over, someone to possess his soul, and those are his corny words, by the way, not mine. It’s what he lives for. It’s what he thinks life’s all about . Do you get what I’m saying?”
I nodded again.
“So there you have it. Do with it what you will. Just don’t be so hard on him. Don’t worry so much. Shit, if I was him, I’d kick your ass, running-off and slamming doors and all that.”
“Pete,” I said, “he didn’t talk to me for hours. What was I supposed to think?”
“He’s Jacob . He’s weird , for Christ’s sake. Believe me, I’ve known him a lot longer than you have. I lived with him back when our apartment was six hundred square feet, and sometimes he’d go days without talking to me. That’s just the way he is. You better get used to it.”
When I walked in the apartment, Jacob was lying on the couch watching The Late Show with David Letterman . The sound was muted but I could see the screen—Pete Townsend was the guest. I interpreted that as a good sign. Pete Townsend wrote one of my favorite lines of all time: No one respects the flame quite like the fool who’s badly burned .
I wanted to whisper those words into Jacob’s ear. I wanted to remind him that I’d been more than just burned, I’d been practically incinerated. And not by some random guy, either, but essentially by the one man in the world who was supposed to protect me. That’s why I acted like a baby. I had scars. But my scars also served to instill a kind of reverence in me. Reverence that, during times of weakness, became shrouded in darkness.
I had a fleeting desire to ask Jacob to turn up the volume so I could hear Pete Townsend sing, but I thought better of that request. Jacob had a serious scowl on his face. I’d never seen him look so angry and I wasn’t sure what to do.
After I shut the door, Jacob flicked off the
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