Frank seemed larger now, and Sean and Brian had lost their swagger, shamed.
“So I kissed her hand goodnight, really gently, and I gave her my phone number so she could decide if she wanted to talk to me. I left it up to her, we’d talk when she was ready. I wasn’t going to press her. It was two or three weeks before she called me, and she was so nervous that I knew she’d been practicing what she was going to say. I’ve gotta tell you, it was so sweet it tore my heart out. She said she had to find a bedside table and did I want to go scout some places on Washington Street? Saturday afternoon, easy enough, no pressure, so I said, yeah, sure. I got there and she was dressed up more than usual, like she’d really thought about what she was going to wear. She had this flared black-and-white tweed skirt and black shoes with a strap across them, like showgirls wear, with this burgundy coat that had a fur collar, and this dark red lipstick sort of smudged like it was an accident. She looked like an old-fashioned movie star on her day off. Adorable, totally adorable.
“We started dating and I spent a lot of time with her. She was real cautious and warned me to go slow with her, that she needed time to work some things out and could I deal with that? I said, sure, she was worth it. So we started talking every day, then we were traveling together, like she’d come out to my place in the Hamptons for the weekend and she’d stay over at my apartment a few nights a week. We were going to the opening of a new club, Plush, you know that one? I took her shopping for a dress, and I guess that freaked her out because she wasn’t used to being treated well. Do you believe no guy had even sent her flowers? I mean, fuck.”
Sean looked at Frank and Brian across from him. He wondered who was thrown in the van first.
“So I took her on as kind of a personal project. Get her out, get her to take some classes… We started to take trips together, she got more social, and I started seeing a real difference in her. We’d go to art openings, I took her to some dinner parties, and I’m thinking she could be a good corporate wife, like do charity work during the day and take care of the house stuff. Plan the vacations and take care of the kids — I mean, I’ve got to start thinking about that because I’m not going anywhere without the wife and family thing… Company’s not going to promote someone who doesn’t fit the picture. Clients don’t trust a guy handling their money who’s not like them. Like, if you’re forty-five and still running around? Forget it. Doesn’t matter how good you are.
“Now it’s been a few months and I’m thinking she might be the one. So I start training her like they trained me at PD — I start teaching her about my job, how to make chitchat at a charity event, negotiate with antiques dealers… had to get her out of that place in Fort Greene. I’m thinking if it works out, I just might marry her, but we never talked about it.
“Anyway, we’re out at a club for some party and we end up barhopping all over town with friends. It’s really late and she says she wants to go to this one bar by her place, some shithole on Myrtle Avenue, so we end up there and she’s drunk, really drunk. She’s wearing this little foufy lavender dress and the place is pretty crowded, it’s hot, she’s almost cross-eyed she’s so plowed. She wants to dance, and I’m like, forget it, but she drags me downstairs to the basement, it’s like this private VIP room, real dark, no bouncers, couple of guys in suits getting smashed at a table, two or three people smoking, whatever. She starts dancing with whoever, but she keeps looking back at me to see if I’m watching her, like it’s a private show for me, like it’ll turn me on or something.”
Frank’s legs were pressed tightly against each other, as though he needed to push against something, but he could only push against himself.
“She doesn’t get the response she wants from me, like she’s trying to punish me, get me jealous, see how much I really care about her. So she gets on a table to dance and she can barely stand up, and everybody’s looking at her. Her hair’s all over the place, and her makeup’s smeared and she’s glistening like she’s sweating to death or her body is trying to push all that fucking booze out, and I look at her. I just look at her, horrified. This is who she is No matter how much I try to do for her, how much I try to teach her, she’ll never be what I need. She’s not marriage material, she’s a fucking mess and now she’s looking uglier and uglier. I kissed that? I thought I could love that? And I start getting pissed off, she wasted my time, I tried to her and this is how she humiliates me?
“Now, I’m not that buzzed, and when I see this going on, I sober up real quick. She’s dancing with any guy in the room and rubbing up against them, rubbing her ass against their crotch like she’s a fucking stripper and she wants me to watch. She wants me to watch her. She hasn’t had sex with me because she says she needs ‘time,’ and I’m fine with that. For fuck’s sake, I’m patient as hell because I think she’s worth it — and she ends up rubbing her pussy up against some drunk guy in a bar?”
Frank’s eyes were blazing now.
“The place empties out and it’s just us and these four guys in suits, and they’re out celebrating a birthday or big promotion or something, and they are nasty drunk. They all take turns dancing with her — well, it’s more like dragging her at this point, she’s so dizzy. She keeps looking around like this isn’t fun anymore, and she’s trying to find me so I can save her, but I’m just sitting in this one shadowy corner and she doesn’t see me. The other guys don’t know we came in together, and they can’t see me either, so they think it’s just them and her. Like, time for a private show, okay?
“Then she falls over backwards on a cocktail table, knocking all the glasses on the floor, and she’s yelling, ‘Frank! Frank!’ but she’s slurring so bad they think she’s yelling, ‘Fuck! Fuck!’ And one guy says, ‘Whatever the lady wants, right?’ and they all start laughing as they unzip their pants. Now she’s screaming and crying and trying to push them off, and they turn her over so she’s face down on the cocktail table, and the ashtray flips over and a glass breaks on the floor, and one by one they all fuck her. They fuck her till she throws up. She’s covered in come and sweat and vomit and she’s moaning, her eyes are rolling in her head. Her dress is shredded and her panties are twisted around one leg like they just got ripped off the other, and there’s blood on her leg…”
Horrified, Brian and Sean couldn’t take their eyes off Frank as he spoke, but they didn’t see him. All they saw was their own picture of her, helpless and screaming on a table, like a still photo from their own personal film.
“… And all I can think is: You fucking whore. I mean, we never even slept together! When she said she needed ‘time’ to work some things out, I was fine with that, but hey, give it away to some guys you meet in a bar? Go ahead! I’ve gotta tell you, though, when I saw her face all blurry and mashed on that table, slumped over like a rag doll, I thought, ‘Well, guess you worked it out, huh?’
“After they all left, I dragged her out of there to her apartment and she was moaning and crying the whole way. It was around 5 a.m., and I left her in front of her apartment. I was done with her. Done. This was the fourth time I had to teach some woman a lesson and I was sick of it. After everything I do for them and they… Why can’t they just… Yeah, I dumped her. I fucking dumped her on the sidewalk.”
Frank sat back, satisfied. Sean and Brian stared at each other with their mouths slightly open, knowing their rankings had changed.