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”I hate you.”
”You’re calling to tell me that you hate me?”
”That’s correct. And also to tell you that you’re a backstabbing motherfucker.”
”And a self-centered bitch.”
”And a shitty friend.”
”Would you like to explain now why I am all those things?”
”Because of you Dana doesn’t wanna talk to me.”
”And how is this because of me?”
”You mean you don’t remember how you told her that you were seeing our one-night friends for the first time? When you were supposed to cover up for me!”
”C’mon, Al, you have to understand I didn’t want to be involved in the conflict. I just had to get away. I can’t stand hysteria.”
”As I said, self-centered bitch.”
”I’ll think about it.
Sigh. ”I have to go, Al.”
”Where? Another chiquita banana is waiting for ya?”
”I’m meeting Tina for lunch.”
”That blondie waitress?”
”Yep. She called me yesterday and offered to have lunch together.”
”I already feel sorry for her.”
”Why is that?”
”You’re gonna lure her into your bed and then toss her away like the morning’s garbage. Poor little lamb will end up heartbroken.”
”I won’t do that. At least not like that. I’ll try to be more gentle.”
”Hah. You’re a wicked, self-centered bitch, Porter, you know that?”
”So I’ve been told. Goodbye, Alice.”
I stop at a red light, prepared to turn right onto Madison Avenue. Today is a warm sunny day, so I’ve got the car roof down. I tilt my head back against the headrest and squint at the sun through the dark lenses of my Ray-Bans, feeling a small smile tugging the corners of my mouth.
I’m about to meet Miss Kennard at one of the most expensive eating places in NYC, which causes me to tingle pleasantly with excitement and mischief. No, wait. Did I really just say that? Meeting Miss Kennard alone is the very reason that I am so thrilled! It’s astonishing how intrigued she makes me without even trying. I hope this brainteaser is going to last, because I intend to get as much amusement out of my little Miss Kennard as possible.
As I pull my Mercedes up to the curb in front of the restaurant, my eye catches sight of Tina. She’s leaning back against the patio railing and doesn’t seem to care about people giving her odd looks. Her blonde hair flutters gently in the breeze, her gaze is intently riveted on some distant focus. She’s dressed in a loose three-quarter sleeve striped shirt that is tucked carelessly into grey shabby jeans, with sneakers on her feet.