Notes from the Upper West Side. A novel by Dan Wrench. Chapter 43. Side Tale.
Hey look at that. 42 chapters and I'm still not in the pants of the babe who's pants we all want me to be in. Sometimes I think I should have started the story on the night of our big date and flashed back to the other stuff like I was Ulysses. We're Don Draper.
Taking 42 chapters doesn't mean I have trouble getting laid either. I could get laid tonight if I wanted to. The boys are sleeping over at Bible Camp and well, it's New York City. It's summertime.
And I'm a man who's his own man. A man without a wife worth being loyal to him. Not what you might call in the swing of doing the things you need to do to actually get laid in New York in the summertime. But all the elements are here.
I just need to throw the switch. Back last March though, banging some side tail required more than a little bit of skill, even in the big city. That's because back then, when I first met Cami and we made our date, Junior and me still had the illusion of being a normal family where the wife doesn't vacation to some asshole's collaring scruity. When I look back on it, I can see the getting the chance to work on Parp's video was a godsend.
If you can imagine God giving enough thought to my cocks prospects to intervene in the affairs of New Yorkers. That video reintroduced me to a whole world of everyday sluts I'd only barely remembered existed. Let's run down the great shit that happened or almost happened when I was working on that video. First off, I almost popped Big Crap's in the end.
Then, when work on the video wrapped, I was just a few days away from seeing Cami with her mound out. I know a lot of you are wondering why I had to go to someone's trouble for some simple urban ass. Go to a bar, find someone self-conscious about her pants, maybe being too small. Fuck her, you're thinking.
Well, fuck you. It isn't that easy. Not for a married guy on the Upper West Side anyway. So that Monday night last March when the video wrapped, I knew what I had to do.
The mission? Slam Cami. The mission in detail. Gotta convincing Alibi for that Saturday night?
And Slam Cami. I got some help with the Alibi from an unlikely place. Maybe not so unlikely once he looked back on it. Good ol' Parp was ready to help me out big time.
He had some gold card membership at the New York Roundabout Inn, and he let me use it to reserve a room. That way, no charges on my own card that the wife might notice. When I told Cami about the deal with Parp's card, she said, Sol, is he gonna be a dar toil? It miffed me a little that she would think even jokingly of a three-way with Parp, but I just smiled.
Then she giggled, and that fried me. I was this far from telling her if she wanted to fuck Parp, she could just, you know, nah, I wasn't that far from telling her jack shit. But still, no fucking way he's going to be there. Okay, she sounded chastised so I guess I maybe let a little too much discuss leak out, but fuck.
I really sweated to get this date out of her, and what does she do? She goes and puts an image in my head of Parp's cocks when he mwiled. The conversation ended okay, but when I calmed down I was still a little on the anxious side of curious. Why was Parp helping me?
What was his game? Was he being my pal, or was he up to no fucking good? So Wednesday at around one in the morning right after my shift at the Commodore let out, I met him at the city diner at 90th and Broadway. It was three days before the inaugural ball, which is what I always call my first fuck of a new babe.
I kind of see you facing this gray existence. He said when I asked him what was in it for him to help me out. You have no poetic dimension to your soul. You have a stupid laugh.
Physically you range from the nondescript to the paladin ponchy. You live in that same square world with all the other dying men trying to eat their cake and have it too. This could be your last chance at something wild and real. I just held my face in my hands.
It's like he doesn't even know how to be uncrual. It's like he isn't human. That little creature that bursts out of John Hurts chest and alien? It looks a little like par.
Then he said, Now that you're fighting to be free of said gray existence I want to be part of the liberation. Like when you let Kurt Libby bang Desiree Scarsgard in your apartment, parp was eating salad and a cup of coffee or maybe glass of water. I'm not sure because I try not to watch parp all he eats. You know about me and Libby in my apartment and the Norwegian girl?
Yep, he told me they always used to laugh about the fact you have like a dozen pillows on your bed. More like four. And yeah, I was thinking the same thing about him back then. Mary too was slut.
We all know as fucking his brains out until she found Jesus and grew a chaperone out of her ass. And who he did he had to keep him company while the wife was off unlearning to love the taste of penis. Too stupid cats. Actually, Libby was really into his wife even if she was like parp said, going through the moral equivalent of dick taste withdrawal.
All he wanted was a little tail on the side. But in parp's mind that got turned into Les Misrault and he wanted to be a part of it so he helped Libby out. And now me. I know.
Sounds screwy. And if it was anybody else, I would have been convinced he was up to no good. But I've known parp since the sex pistols were abandoned. This was vintage.
I was kind of relieved. And you know, when you're relieved, you get convivial sometimes. At least I do. I put a french fry in my mouth.
I was eating a burger and fries and gigcackled. So, you think Cammy's a better match for me than Junior? Why you have to ruin my salad with a question like that? He asked some middle class compatibility question.
A match for you, please. Well, maybe she's dangerous for you. Maybe you'll give up everything for her and then come home and catch her writing some guy's face. Terrific.
I ate more fries. I was sullen. Now I knew it was already in parp's head that my new babe would be in bed with someone else as soon as my back was turned. He didn't say that someone else was him but fuck, I know how parp mind works.
I barely know the girl. He said like you could hear me thinking. I like her work though. She's really committed.
Work? What work? Turns out Cammy, in addition to being the artistic director of this milestone theater company, is also an actress. Whoa.
I said I didn't know. I saw her play Louisa Miller in Cabal and Lee in 2004. She let the part take her over all the way down to the fast twitch fibers. That takes a lot of discipline.
I know. I'm an actor. Kishra, you're not that kind of an actor. He said wait a minute.
That was almost a decade ago. Yeah. How old is she? Oh, I don't know.
I guess she's got to be 33-34. Holy shit. I thought she was in her twenties. This being in her thirties and an artistic director and an actress that parp thinks does great work.
I wasn't so sure I was up for this. Look, I know that admitting this doesn't make me look great, but the truth is, and I'm pretty sure I'm not surprising you. All I wanted was what Libby wanted that time. Some side tale.
You know side tale? It's tale. On the side. I didn't want to be some guy in a French film who gets his soul consumed by burning beauty.
I wanted my cock consumed by treadmill ass, like in an American film. That's the way I thought it was going to be with Cammy. A fun fuck. An American fuck.
Maybe a short series of fun American fucks. Now it's like she's as big a workaholic as well. As parp. What if she's wild just as tight as he is?
What if… Wait a minute. I kinda glared at him. He gave me this big grin this shit. What was going on here?
First he puts in my head this image of Cammy in bed with some other guy. Then he says he barely knows her, but a second later he's reaving about a live theater performance he saw her in back in Bush's first term and she's working on his video now? Just how well do they know each other? And the whole reason we were meeting tonight was because Cammy put in my head the possibility of a three way with parp.
I could feel a bloom of sweat evaporate off my face. I gloured at him. He stopped grinning. What?
If I didn't know any better, I said I'd think you were making a play for her through me. You know? In the hopes that I'll tell her about what a great guy you are for helping us out. Soften her up for you later.
Well first off don't you think that would have to be one long cool calculation on my part? And second, why would I ever expect you to speak well of me behind my back? And third, if I wanted to fuck Cameron why wouldn't I talk to her instead of you? This isn't high school.
That answer sounds just a little too well prepared. He dropped his fork and sat back in the booth and stared up at the ceiling. I continued. Maybe you're not telling her yourself because you know there's no way she'd want to be with a fucking egomaniac like you.
Really? Because I have this theory that all people who do really good work are egomaniacs. Bullshit. How else are they going to protect their standards?
Yeah well that isn't Cammy. You're sure? No. Fucking.
Way. And I resent you saying I never say anything good about you behind your back. Yeah I say shitty things about you sometimes but always to your face. He looked at me.
Yeah okay that might have been going too far. No shit I said. There was this long time while we just sat there and chomped. I have this vivid memory of a napkin bunched up and soaking with ketchup.
So you're just doing this for the romance of it all. I finally asked trying to get back to the point. Doing. Helping me with the hotel Saturday.
Well I'm not just doing it for the romance of it all. I figure if you hook up with someone like Cameron she might throw your personality into crisis. And when that happens you might start to question your square precepts. Look at the world with new eyes.
Make new connections between the objects you see. Become a real human able to see things like love and passion in their mother's ship size dimensions blue and blazing instead of what you are now which is one of those apes throwing sticks at the monolith at the beginning of 2001 a space odyssey. Okay look I know that park was being a big asshole here can we agree on that? But I didn't think he was making it up to cover a play for my new babe.
I was pretty sure this was more vintage park seeing rotating rainbows in a casual bang. So it's all for me. I said there's nothing in it for you. Sure there is.
This Saturday when you're fucking Cameron I'm going to be at your house fucking your wife. I laughed. He laughed. I felt relieved.
Notes from the Upper West Side is a work of fiction. The people depicted in this work do not exist. Notes from the Upper West Side copyright 2013 to 2016 by Dan Wrench.