hours."
"So that's why people at the restaurant didn't approach you but gawked from afar?"
"Exactly and it's kind of why I like it here. I can be anonymous and live a normal life."
"Of course that doesn't explain why you were wearing sunglasses in a restaurant after the sun freakin' set."
Before Saint can retort, a man in blue slacks and a red and blue striped tie briskly approaches us with his hand outstretched for a hand shake.
"I'm so sorry for the wait, Mr. Stevenson. My name is David, and I'm one of the sales associates here. Let me say that our whole team was elated when we received a call from your office letting us know that you would be stopping by."
"My office?" Saint questions.
"That would be me." Nimwit.
"Oh I'm sorry, are you Miss White?"
"That's me. Thank you for setting aside some time for Mr. Stevenson today. We're interested in taking a look at a few of your trucks and seeing what the best deal is you can offer. We don't require financing, so we're looking for the best cash deal you can offer."
"We will give Mr. Stevenson the best deal humanly possible. He is a hero around these parts. We certainly want his business."
A hero? Give me a break. It's just a game, people.
"All right then," Saint interrupts. "Let's go find me another beautiful depreciating bad investment."
Poor David looks confused by Saint's choice of words, while I shake my head in silent laughter.
This guy.
***
Saint ends up buying a dark gray, metallic pick up truck, and I must say I was impressed to hear it was so that he could start taking his nephew Jake skiing and snow boarding upstate. I'm pretty sure my new client has a soft spot for his family, which is great to see. It might be the only genuinely humble part of him.
"You have time for lunch?" he asks.
"I really should head back to the office. I've got quite a bit of work to do."
"I'm not sure how I feel about sharing you with those reality show housewives."
"I only represent one housewife, Saint. The other two are on singing competition shows."
"Well I don't see why you can't pass them on to someone else and only handle me. Can't you tell that I'm an attention seeking whore?"
I quickly check my calendar and the time. "All right Mr. Needy, I can spare about forty-five minutes."
"Sweet. I know just the place."
"Where?"
"I'm taking you for a little slice of heaven."
"Pie?"
"No and stop trying to guess. Your need to know every single detail before you do or go anywhere is not good for your mental health. Live a little."
"Whatever. Let's go. The clock is ticking."
***
I'm in a restaurant the size of a walk-in closet on a side street in Greenwich Village with the largest slice of Sicilian pizza in my mouth that I've ever had. If I'm not careful, my eyes are going to roll to the back of my head.
"Heaven right?" Saint asks with an "I told you so" look on his face.
I nod my head, because I can't talk. My cheeks are full of cheesy dough.
Finally I swallow.
"The crust is amazing. How did you find this place?"
"It's a neighborhood haunt. Strictly word of mouth. The owners have been here for thirty years. Cute little Italian couple. The husband still mixes the dough himself every morning."
I wipe my mouth.
"I guess that's why it's so good."
"So you're not from New York?"
"No, I've lived here since my NYU days. I'm originally from Colorado Springs."
"That's a big move."
"I wanted something different. Ever since high school, I've loved numbers, and I thought that I'd be working on Wall Street, which is why I planned on a New York school but plans change."
"How so?"
"I had a hard time making friends when I first moved to New York. I started checking out some local bands as a way to get out and be social, since I wasn't much of a partier, and fell in love with the scene. Decided I wanted to be part of that world in some way. Since I can't sing or write songs, I figured I could manage their money. It's my way of being part of that world without having to
"So that's why people at the restaurant didn't approach you but gawked from afar?"
"Exactly and it's kind of why I like it here. I can be anonymous and live a normal life."
"Of course that doesn't explain why you were wearing sunglasses in a restaurant after the sun freakin' set."
Before Saint can retort, a man in blue slacks and a red and blue striped tie briskly approaches us with his hand outstretched for a hand shake.
"I'm so sorry for the wait, Mr. Stevenson. My name is David, and I'm one of the sales associates here. Let me say that our whole team was elated when we received a call from your office letting us know that you would be stopping by."
"My office?" Saint questions.
"That would be me." Nimwit.
"Oh I'm sorry, are you Miss White?"
"That's me. Thank you for setting aside some time for Mr. Stevenson today. We're interested in taking a look at a few of your trucks and seeing what the best deal is you can offer. We don't require financing, so we're looking for the best cash deal you can offer."
"We will give Mr. Stevenson the best deal humanly possible. He is a hero around these parts. We certainly want his business."
A hero? Give me a break. It's just a game, people.
"All right then," Saint interrupts. "Let's go find me another beautiful depreciating bad investment."
Poor David looks confused by Saint's choice of words, while I shake my head in silent laughter.
This guy.
***
Saint ends up buying a dark gray, metallic pick up truck, and I must say I was impressed to hear it was so that he could start taking his nephew Jake skiing and snow boarding upstate. I'm pretty sure my new client has a soft spot for his family, which is great to see. It might be the only genuinely humble part of him.
"You have time for lunch?" he asks.
"I really should head back to the office. I've got quite a bit of work to do."
"I'm not sure how I feel about sharing you with those reality show housewives."
"I only represent one housewife, Saint. The other two are on singing competition shows."
"Well I don't see why you can't pass them on to someone else and only handle me. Can't you tell that I'm an attention seeking whore?"
I quickly check my calendar and the time. "All right Mr. Needy, I can spare about forty-five minutes."
"Sweet. I know just the place."
"Where?"
"I'm taking you for a little slice of heaven."
"Pie?"
"No and stop trying to guess. Your need to know every single detail before you do or go anywhere is not good for your mental health. Live a little."
"Whatever. Let's go. The clock is ticking."
***
I'm in a restaurant the size of a walk-in closet on a side street in Greenwich Village with the largest slice of Sicilian pizza in my mouth that I've ever had. If I'm not careful, my eyes are going to roll to the back of my head.
"Heaven right?" Saint asks with an "I told you so" look on his face.
I nod my head, because I can't talk. My cheeks are full of cheesy dough.
Finally I swallow.
"The crust is amazing. How did you find this place?"
"It's a neighborhood haunt. Strictly word of mouth. The owners have been here for thirty years. Cute little Italian couple. The husband still mixes the dough himself every morning."
I wipe my mouth.
"I guess that's why it's so good."
"So you're not from New York?"
"No, I've lived here since my NYU days. I'm originally from Colorado Springs."
"That's a big move."
"I wanted something different. Ever since high school, I've loved numbers, and I thought that I'd be working on Wall Street, which is why I planned on a New York school but plans change."
"How so?"
"I had a hard time making friends when I first moved to New York. I started checking out some local bands as a way to get out and be social, since I wasn't much of a partier, and fell in love with the scene. Decided I wanted to be part of that world in some way. Since I can't sing or write songs, I figured I could manage their money. It's my way of being part of that world without having to
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