Whiskey Tango Foxtrot
Whiskey river take my mind
Don’t let her memory torture me
Whiskey river don’t run dry
You’re all I’ve got, take care of me-Willie Nelson, “Whiskey River”
The White Rabbit. Yeah, no. The last time I was here a dude tried to grab my ass and a chick tried to become my stalker. Crazy town, man. Crazy town.
***
The Axe Man tries to talk my wife and me into buying raffle tickets but I’m not yet drunk enough to try my luck at anything.
***
Viviane is all like I haven’t seen you in a while and I’m all like yeah I know I’m an unreliable friend.
***
I cannot think of anything intelligent to say to Tess and Selina because I’m tall and their cups runneth over.
***
The Bad Man shows up and everyone sez “Oh hey!” And then Sinclair shows up and I give her a hug and I’m meaning to ask her for tips on bending hotchix to my will but then someone says something and I forget.
***
Gotta get some air. The Calico Cat is lost so I text her directions. “How do you spell Forsyth?” I ask the Bad Man.
“Does it matter?”
The Calico Cat looks like a pharmaceutical sales rep. “Nice power suit,” I tell her.
***
The Axe Man and I try to convince the Bad Man to give his eager 20-year-old a go. Having been frustrated in the pursuit of an ideal, I’ve learned to err on the side of pleasure.
Ronen snaps some pictures of us while we’re talking. Leslie is confused because he does not give her time to pose. “He’s taking anti-portraits,” I explain.
***
Morpheus tells me I’m the only one who’s made the connection between his name and the name of the bar we’re standing in. I feel special.
***
I admire the Bad Man’s tenacity. When I meet his former paramour I can see why he’s been holding out. “She’s delightful!” I announce. I can’t put my finger on it yet, but she reminds me of someone.
Leslie takes a shine to the Bad Man’s former paramour’s saucy, tattooed friend.
***
I hold in my hand a slip of paper that entitles me to take liberties with Rachel. Do I just come right out and ask?
I come right out and ask.
She removes her glasses and bends over the bar. I am not satisfied with my first attempt, but the second blow lands solidly upon her right buttock.
When Leslie takes her turn a man tries to sidle up to the bar. “Back off!” she cries. “Spanking in progress.”
***
A youngchick is there for her birthday party. She cannot find anyone to sign her calendar so I lead her around the room introducing her to people. “You should come hang out with us,” she sez.
***
On my way past the coat check I spy a tallchick with curly blond locks. Hot and a little funny looking. Just my type. I stop in my tracks and drink her in head to toe. She smiles. I wait a beat and turn around.
***
Bad Man and company are headed elsewhere. “If you pick these girls up you are welcome to bring them out to meet us,” he sez.
“Dunno. I’m getting a straight vibe and I’m trying to avoid straight women right now.”
***
The tallchick stands on the sidewalk looking bored. Les and I strike up a conversation with her. The woman is Puerto Rican and speaks with a lispy accent. We meet her husband, who does not seem the least bit put off that we are chatting up his wife. She invites us back inside, where she buys us a round (and, egads, a couple shots). I speak with a friend of hers while Leslie slyly obtains the tallchick’s number.
***
We leave, fully intending to hop on the train or whatever, but then I see that Katz’s is still open. I order a pastrami on rye. The sandwich guy hands Leslie a bunch of pickles. We walk down the block to Bereket and while Leslie’s in there ordering falafel I tear into my deli sammich, which is so savory I have to steady myself against a wall lest my buckling legs give out.
I had forgotten that it is sometimes possible to feel the presence of God.
***
The Slipper Room, scene of Leslie’s impromptu burlesque many moons ago. The Bad Man is there with his former paramour and his former paramour’s friend. Leslie falls into an intense conversation with the paramour’s friend while the Bad Man stands, rather stoically, against a booth. I inquire as to the origin of his discontent.
Shrugging helplessly, he says, “She’s in love with someone else.”
All night she’s been happily feeding him the hangman’s rope. It’s like watching someone get kicked in the nuts. Repeatedly. You cross your legs in sympathy.
I’ve been there before.
***
The torture continues. I don’t understand why people play these games — games which serve no purpose other than to introduce bitterness into the world.
***
“I finally figured out who you remind me of,” I tell the paramour.
“Who’s that?”
I am grinning now. “The most evil woman I ever dated. I still remember the moment I decided to break up with her: We were lying in bed one morning and she decided to call in ‘sick’, but when her secretary answered she yelled at the poor girl for picking up on the third ring.”
“Hey! I don’t even have a secretary.”
***
A man in a suit offers me a smoke. It’s weird how people latch on to me. “So what do you do?” I ask him.
“I fuck chicks.”
***
Another strange night draws to a close. The Bad Man’s girls leave, and in time so do the rest of us.
“Forget about her,” I call out as he shuffles across the street. “You deserve someone who wants to be with you.”
So do we all. So do we all.
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