I should’ve been embarrassed to death, but that’s the temporary beauty of being drunk: complete lack of self-awareness. Still, I did manage one decent decision – to go find a bathroom to wash up so I could hail a cab home without scaring off the driver.
Parting the deck crowd like Moses with the measles, I babbled while stumbling and bumbling off. “A bathroom… a bathroom… my kingdom for a bathroom.”
No one laughed, and I guess I couldn’t blame them for that. I had let myself become a complete horse’s ass on Courtney’s special night. I had let my best friend down.
I entered the main galley and immediately began twisting every doorknob in sight down a long hallway. It figured that every room was locked.
Finally one door opened. As I groped for a light switch, all I could think was, Please, Lord, let this be a bathroom!
But as the room lit up, I couldn’t believe my eyes. “You’ve got to be kidding me!” I blurted out. “This can’t be for real!”
Chapter 56
IT WAS LIKE the game of Clue, only the sex-addict edition. Thomas Ferramore… in the supply room… with his pants down around his ankles.
In front of him was a young and very pretty blonde on her knees. Needless to say, she wasn’t praying. I wasn’t sure, but I thought she was one of the PR ladies who had been with him on the deck.
Panic flashed across Ferramore’s face, but amazingly, it vanished almost as fast as it had arrived. Apparently you don’t get to be a billionaire without being able to think quickly on your feet, even with your dick hanging out.
“Get up, honey,” he said calmly to the young blonde. “Go enjoy the rest of the party.”
She quickly buttoned her white blouse, dabbed at her lips, and hurried out the door. I suppose I couldn’t blame her, but not once did she look at me.
Meanwhile, that’s all Ferramore could do. His dark eyes bored straight into mine. He was staring, unblinking. And of all goddamn things, he started to smile.
“So, you caught me,” he said, the second we were alone. “Now what are you going to do about it? You have a plan of action yet?”
The son of a bitch hadn’t even bothered to pull up his pants.
“What do you think I’m going to do about it?” I shot back. “At your own engagement party? After what you said to Courtney up there?”
He shook his head and laughed some more. “It’s your word against mine and your word is pretty drunk, isn’t it?”
“Not so drunk that I’m blind, pal. I saw what I saw.”
In fact, I suddenly felt as if I’d downed a dozen cups of coffee. Not quite sober as a judge, but the thoughts and words were forming just fine.
“Do you even love Courtney?” I asked.
“Does that even matter?”
“It does to me.”
He laughed again. “Yes, I know it does,” he said. “You love her madly, right? That’s probably why you felt it was okay to fuck her when you knew she was engaged to me.”
That stopped me cold. How did he know that?
“She told you?” I asked in disbelief.
His laugh grew louder, a booming cackle now, and it dawned on me that there was another explanation.
“Christ, you had her followed.”
“I always look after my investments, Nick – force of habit. In a way, all it proves is that Courtney and I are meant for each other. In fact, for your sake, you should feel lucky I was okay with it.”
“Tell you what, then,” I said. “Since you know about Courtney and me, why don’t we go tell her about what I just walked in on and she can decide for herself.”
“You do that and you can kiss your sweet job at Citizen magazine good-bye.”
“Yeah, but I’d sure be going out with a bang.”
“Yes, you sure would. Too bad about Courtney, though. She’d be out of a job, too. You understand that, of course.”
Checkmate! And he knew it, too. Citizen was Courtney’s baby, the joy of her life.
Ferramore finally reached down and pulled up his trousers. “To show you there are no hard feelings, though, how about I cut you a check and we forget this whole thing ever happened.”
Was this prick really trying to buy me off? That was the worst insult yet.
“That depends,” I said. “What does your being caught getting a blow job go for these days?”
“That’s a very good question,” came a trembling voice over my shoulder. “What does it go for, Tom?”
I SPUN AROUND to see Courtney leaning against the doorway, her arms folded tightly, as if she was hugging herself for comfort. Her eyes were shooting so many sharpened daggers at Ferramore, I practically had to duck.
No one had to ask how long she’d been standing there or how much she’d heard.
She’d obviously heard enough.
But there were no tears like she had had with me out on the deck. She wasn’t sad now, she was angry – mad as hell at Ferramore and even more pissed off at herself. I thought I knew what she was thinking: How could I have been so stupid?
“So tell me, Tom, what did you have to pay your little French supermodel to change her story? How much was that check?” she demanded to know.
I expected Ferramore to show at least a little remorse here. Maybe even a little class.
Boy, was I ever wrong. The rich have such incredibly high opinions of themselves.
The prick smirked. “Hell, she was cheap compared with that CEO of ParisJet. I actually had to buy his company.”
All at once, Courtney yanked off her ten-carat diamond ring and threw a fastball at Ferramore’s chest.
“C’mon, Nick, let’s go,” she said.
It was the four most beautiful words she, or anybody, had ever said to me.
“I hope you two are extremely happy together,” chirped Ferramore as he buckled his trousers. “Oh, and by the way, you’re both fired! Good luck finding new jobs.”
“Don’t worry, we will,” Courtney shot back. “You see, I get to start over. But you? You’ll always be a scumbag!”
Brava, Courtney!
She turned and walked off, and I was about to follow in her steps, but I just couldn’t help myself. The moment was too good; I wasn’t quite ready to leave yet.
“By the way, Ferramore,” I said, glancing down at his ridiculous white jacket, “Captain Stubing from The Love Boat called. He wants his uniform back.”
Chapter 58
IN THE MOVIES, Courtney and I would have made mad, passionate love all night long to the tune of a saxophone sound track. Then we would’ve blissfully woken up in each other’s arms without a single hair out of place.
So much for the movies, which don’t seem to get it right very often anyway.
I didn’t have Courtney in my arms or anywhere else in my apartment the next morning. What I did have, however, was a terrific hangover and a severe case of bed head that would’ve scared Lyle Lovett.
As upset as Courtney had been as she’d stormed off Ferramore’s yacht, she’d known better than to engage in any “Sweet Revenge” scenarios with me. And as drunk as I had been, I really hadn’t been looking for anything more than a kiss on the cheek. Maybe. After all, I had been beyond obnoxious at the party, and I’d broken my promise to her.
“We’ll be making two stops,” Courtney had told the cab driver. “First his apartment, and then mine.” But she held my hand for the entire ride and indeed gave me that kiss on the cheek when we rolled up to my place. And that’s how the night ended.
At least, I’m fairly sure that’s how it ended. It was all still fuzzy in the a.m. In fact, it wasn’t until I’d taken in some hot, über-strong coffee and a cold shower that I managed my first lucid thought.
According to Thomas Ferramore I was no longer employed by Citizen magazine. Just like that, I was suddenly out of a great job, probably the best one I’d ever had. Pink-slipped. Canned for doing the right thing.