86'd: A Novel - By Dan Fante Page 0,33
across the room. “Hi, darling.”
She wasn’t alone. She was close-dancing with a partner, a young guy. Portia pulled her head from his shoulder to introduce us. “This is Sidney,” she whispered. “He’s my friend. A personal trainer and massage therapist.”
The kid was tanned and overmuscled and looked as if he’d stepped out of a gay men’s magazine.
Both of them were giggling and nicely gassed on drinks and whatever else they’d been drugging that night. Portia was wearing her favorite oversized man’s dress shirt and her thonged panties. Sidney, a tight tee and sweat pants. L.A. fitness casual.
I knew that the kid being here with her was payback, Portia’s way of showing me what a jerk I was for pulling back and avoiding contact with her.
She asked me if I wanted a Cuba libre. I said yes because I needed a pick-me-up after the annoyance of Pearl’s fender ding.
Crossing the room I sat down on one of the puffy velour chairs Portia had brought in weeks ago to dress the place up.
The shit was starting. “Sidney and I first met in a yoga class at my gym. He’s from Chicago,” she purred. “My young friend has a spectacular body, don’t you think?”
“Sidney looks like he lifts weights day and night,” I said. “He’s an impressive physical specimen.”
Portia was leering. “Sidney darling, slip your shirt off, beautiful boy. Bruno ought to see what’s possible when a fellow devotes himself to improving his body.”
Apparently Sid was shy but equally as drunk as his skinny, grinning host. He also stuttered a bit. “Ca-ca-c’mon Porsh, you’re ma-makin’ me nervous. You know I don’t la-like to show off.”
“Bruno, Sidney’s bisexual.”
“That’s just swell,” I said. “He’s in the right town for it too. The very rectum of deep thinkers and financial opportunity. How about that drink?”
“Of course” she said. “Help yourself?”
“Don’t mind if I do.”
Across the room I spotted a one-third-empty half gallon of rum, ice, some limes, a tall glass, and a quart of Coca-Cola on the magazine table. But, as I started toward the bar, Dav-Ko’s office manager changed her mind, breaking her hold on her personal Ken doll. Her shirt was open, exposing her tits as she slinked her way across the floor to mix me a drink. “No, no, no,” she purred, “I’ll get it for you. My treat. Service with a smile.”
“Mind going easy on the mix,” I asked.
It was then that the bell went off in my head and I fully got the message. Earlier that night, when I knew my assignment with Stedman was ending, I’d phoned in to tell Joshua my ETA to the garage and to let him know my out-of-pocket expenses for the run. Portia was in the office, in the background. I could hear her lecturing a driver. She knew I was on my way in. But the extra glass on the magazine table was the real giveaway. She’d been expecting me.
I decided that I didn’t care. Let the woman have her even-steven for the way I’d treated her. Let it play out. Screw it. I deserved it. I had it coming. Maybe after tonight we’d be able to get back to where we were before the whole mess began.
She handed me my drink and I took a hit. A good one. The glass was mostly rum and ice. Now I was okay. I could relax. I was fine. I took another long hit.
Ms. Portia was smiling, a drunken leer, her teeth stained by red lipstick, her boy’s white hair and pretty face glowing in the soft light. She rejoined Sidney and pressed her tits against his chest and began dancing again. Etta on the CD player wailing out “At Last.”
“Don’t mind us,” she said.
“Hey,” I said back. “Just pretend I’m a tired chauffeur having a well-needed nightcap.”
“That’s nice,” she whispered.
“Mind if I help myself to another?” I said, pointing at the liquor table.
“Pleeezzze,” she slurred. “Sidney’s been promising me a mah-sage. You don’t mind if we just go ahead? It won’t embarrass you, will it?”
I nodded no. In for a peso, in for a pound.
With that she picked up her glass, took a last hit, draining it, then crossed the room to pull open the sleeper couch.
She slipped off her panties and long-sleeve shirt to lie on the bed, her ass in the air.
Sidney, as if choreographed, finished his drink too, then stood above the bed peeling off his clothes, down to his red bikini underpants, attempting to appear nonchalant. Near naked, the guy was