Saturday, May 17, 2008
Dec 9, 1999 | Dec. 9, 1999
Sunday, October 17
Since Friday night, I have been wrapped up in my Reformed Boyfriend's weekend embrace -- secretly seething over my meeting with Barry Horowitz: Wouldn't it be funny if your boyfriend wanted you for your nonexistent family money? Last night, while Matt and I were making love, Barry's comment echoed in my brain ... Nonexistent money! "What's wrong?" Matt asked, pulling back. "Did I ... uh, hurt you, honey?"
I was tempted to plead a sudden headache -- but a girl should save something for marriage. "My nipples," I whispered. "They're kind of sensitive tonight." Matt would rather believe he's committed an infraction -- large or small -- than live with a lingering mystery. As Matt tried to rectify the alleged offense to my nipples, I willed Barry's awful words out of my mind.
This morning, I have managed to escape for smoked salmon brunch with Jasmine at Park Bistro.
Sunday evening
At brunch, Jasmine pumped me for details of my meeting with Barry Horowitz. "He's the most obnoxious, inappropriate jerk I have ever encountered!" I told her. But I was too embarrassed to admit that Horowitz had wounded my vanity (and wrecked this weekend's sex) with a throwaway line -- about my boyfriend.
"Inappropriate?" she asked, snapping her menu shut. "Did he come onto you?"
"That's not the point!" I said. "I will not be represented by a psychotic lawyer who regards my personal life as a hilarious joke. I'm not giving anyone a $5,000 retainer to insult me!"
Jasmine waved my arguments aside. "You're talking about the man who's been my lawyer since I was a child offender," she said. "I know Barry's a voyeur. He's also a jerk. Do you expect a good criminal lawyer to have the personality of a maitre d'? He deals with prosecutors and psychos -- that's his job! Don't you get it?"
I contemplated this in sullen silence. Who else would be able to find me a lawyer at this point? Not my so-called best friend, Allison -- she's the reason I need one! Not my boyfriend. Maybe Milton, but "Criminal Lawyer" might strike him as a sordid request. Better to use his money to handle my legal costs while keeping these messy problems to myself. Even though I'm ahead of the game -- sitting on the pile of cash Milt gave me -- I do care what he thinks of me. I don't want to be seen as an aging street urchin on the verge of New York Post infamy! I'd like to remain somewhat genteel -- sexy not seedy -- in Milt's eyes ...
"You know," Jasmine continued, "Barry saved me from myself. When I was a teenager, he said: 'You have no concept of the future.' I was, like, incredibly willful." Was? "If he weren't so obnoxious, I wouldn't have listened. He scared the hell out of me! And," she added grandly, "we have Barry Horowitz to thank for the woman I have ultimately become."
"Oh my God," I mumbled into my double espresso. What would she have "become" if the obnoxious Horowitz had not put the fear of prison into her?
The self-satisfied gleam in her eyes was softened by nostalgia. "Barry persuaded me to stop dealing. I wanted to keep expanding my business. He said if I kept selling drugs I would eventually come up against the glassine ceiling, and what a boring future I would have as a corpse. He's an excellent judge of character." I shuddered at the thought of Jasmine's chestnut locks covered in blood rather than golden-brown highlights. "If you really want to be a dealer, it's still a man's world," she said, in a "case closed" no-nonsense tone. She didn't want to entertain any regrets.
"Well, I'm glad you became one of the girls," I said, reaching for her hand. "Barry did the right thing. You were in terrible danger! I'm glad you explained ... about Barry."
My sentimental reaction caused her to look away. "So," she abruptly concluded, "if you don't want Barry to represent you, you're a short-sighted bimbo who deserves to be up on federal charges!" After a pause she added, "I hate this weekend crowd -- and where are my goddamn french fries?"
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