Michelle – 2007 to Present – Chapter 10 – Night & Day

A week went by after the Friends of Rittenhouse Ball crashing incident. I figured that we got away with it without incident.

Michelle: “We’re going to get fired.”

Me: “No we’re not. My numbers are good, so are yours and everybody loves you. We’re in the clear.”

But within a few days we were called into the President’s office. He ripped us new ones. Then they sent us over to human resources and we were written up. Those fuckers. I hate them all. As a matter of fact none of them are at that company any longer. The Prez eventually left, our manager the crazy Russian was fired, and the lady from HR left a year ago. So we’re all equal now. We didn’t even care that we got written up. We were both prepared to go work in a restaurant somewhere together if they had really fired us.

Ain’t love grand?

The whole thing blew over and we were all none the worse for any of it. Funny thing was, if anything it emboldened us even more to pull stuff. We were high on love and life and we just wanted to have fun. People would overhear our conversations and buy us drinks. We were a little surprised by that but loved getting free drinks. We were out almost every night. We’d hang out at Twenty Manning and spend our last $20 on wine on Sunday afternoons. Michelle even went as far as taking out a $1000 loan from our credit union just to maintain our lavish lifestyle. We didn’t buy a bunch of things, we just went out and drank and ate all the time. We’d be hungover and go to The Continental Midtown for lunch and our favorite bartender Mike G would hook us up with cool free drinks. He made us these cool drinks called Kate Moss. I think it was champagne, a shot of booze and a sugar cube which represented a lump of cocaine. We’d hang out at Chris’ Jazz Cafe and close the place. It would be two o’ clock in the morning and we’d be sitting at the bar drinking and smoking cigarettes. Speaking of which. I quit smoking cigarettes ten years before when my daughter was born. But sometimes Michelle had trouble lighting her Parliaments in the wind, so I’d do it for her. Next thing you know I would take a little puff. She was worried I’d get re-addicted to tobacco. I told her I’d only be hooked if I started buying them.

I started buying them again. God damn it.

We’d supposed to be out making sales calls and we’d be napping on a blanket in Rittenhouse Park. We’d also pack wine and snacks and go to Concerts in the Park every Wednesday night. We’d go to Devon and destroy an assorted seafood platter. We drank oceans of martinis. We’d be banged up after a crappy day of meetings and sales, and head right over to Mantra (Which is now where Dandelion is located on 18th Street) We would run out of money drinking martinis and the awesome bartender Kevin would just keep bringing them to us. I would always go back the next day and give him money.

Her bitch faced roommate traveled a lot and we’d go to Michelle’s apartment and drink her roommate’s wine. She always drank Clos du Bois chardonnay and we would drink the whole thing. We used to have to keep going to the liquor store to buy replacements for her. She never found out, but we must have replaced her wine at least five times. I still had an apartment in Pennsauken, New Jersey but I was hardly ever there. I practically lived in Michelle’s room. It was insane. We would work all day together, and then hang out every night and sleep together and then do it all over again the next day.

We were out of control and loving every minute of it. One night I just lifted up Michelle’s skirt out front of the Philadelphia Public Library and went down on her right there. Her sitting on the wall and me just going to town on her. Right on the street.

One day while out on four-legged calls, we crashed a private event for Deaf Children at the Rittenhouse Hotel. We drank their booze, and ate their food. Grabbed a couple of gift bags and left. I remember us dumping out the contents on the ground and just grabbing what we wanted. I took the DVD of North by Northwest, Michelle grabbed up the make up. I know all of this is wrong but we just didn’t care. Nobody probably heard us leave anyway.

Hanging out in Alma de Cuba, going anywhere we wanted. Michelle would take me to bars and I wouldn’t even remember having gone there we were so drunk most of the time. Once we decided to go see a psychic. Michelle believed it that stuff back then. I know it’s just a parlor trick, but it’s sometimes fun to do. But the night we went, this woman started bring up all of this stuff about my life and it was freaking me out. I started crying during the reading. Bizarre!

Oh here’s one… One of the local sales reps had just signed a new client. It was the G Lounge. I called it the D Lounge because only a bunch of douchebags went there. But he was all happy about getting them. It was a thirty thousand dollar ad campaign. Somebody came up with the brilliant idea to make a promotional video for them. But they would use Michelle and our boss, (the crazy Russian) as romantic interests in the video. That is wrong on so many levels. They went and shot the video and of course Michelle looked amazing, but after that everyone was drinking and our boss tried to kiss Michelle! Awful!

Michelle always said: “I have so much fun with you, that when the day is over, I wish we could do it all again.”

Oh, and here is the crazy irony of it all. After shooting the video and running it on their website, running banner ads, email blasts and newsletter insertions, G Lounge never paid the thirty thousand dollar bill. Never. Then they went out of business. There is now a place called 1925 in that space. It is equally awful.

 

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Sarika – 2014 to Present – Song of the Black Widow

God, she’s beautiful. I couldn’t find a stock picture on the internet to capture the delightful beauty of this girl. She is so pretty. Indian. Exotic. The type of beauty you’d almost pay for to be seen with at an event. She is probably one of the most beautiful women I know in Philly. But she recently reached out to me to come hang at a happy hour and a brand new place in Rittenhouse, called Scarpetta. Smith and Wolensky’s is gone and now that place is here. It’s in the Rittenhouse Hotel. She also mentioned that she wants me to come up to her apartment and check out her new place at the Dorchester. I am so glad I have reconnected with her. This vacuous she-devil is such a good character for this work. I am a huge fan of lovely Sarika.

I got to Scarpetta around 5:30. They’ve done a nice job with the place. It’s dark and intimate. The bar looks the same but they’ve opened up the place a bit. There’s only the one bar, but they have a lounge in the back and there is a dining room upstairs. I look around for Sarika but I don’t see her. I’m chatting with the manager and then I look out the window and see her walking towards the building.

Sarika looks amazing as always. We grab a couple of drinks at the bar and sit in this cool little area by ourselves near the window. Rittenhouse Square looks beautiful. It’s all decorated for the holidays.There are strings of bulbs in the trees and the whole park twinkle with light. She is having some sort of light pink beverage that I didn’t catch the name of, and I’m having the old-fashioned. Normally, cocktails are around fifteen dollars, but during happy hour they’re half price. So that’s something I can live with for now.

I ask her what she’s been up to and she says she’s been going on a lot of dates. Turns out that weasel she wanted to bring to my eighty dollar a plate New Years party last year has been gone for a while. I remember she was so into that guy. Apparently they were together off and on for two years. She says she wasted her best years on him and now she’s old. She’s 28! Come on Sarika, you are still but a child. She said he was a jerk to her and probably never loved her. I get her laughing, and start thinking that the black widow isn’t so bad after all. She may be smart as a whip, but she’s still a young woman navigating her way through love and life. I even joke that she probably has a blood-red hour-glass tattooed on her belly.

I do love pretty things, and she is no exception.

I tell her she looks great as always. She has been in some sunny destinations lately, so her skin is a darker brown than normal. I like it. It makes her look even more mysterious and exotic. I mention it and she immediately asks if I think it looks ugly. She always says things like that. She is so smart but so immature at the same time. She’s also a bit of a chatterbox. I think most men can’t handle that and don’t like a girl who talks too much. I don’t mind it. I like a girl who has things to say and experiences to share. I love to talk and entertain a woman, so it’s nice when I have a chatty girl so I don’t have to do all of the work. Women like a good listener and I grew up with three sisters. But what I can’t stand is what Carol used to do. Just babbling on nonstop like a tire spinning in the snow. (See: Carol 5/2014 to 8/2016 – There’s No Fun In Dysfunction)

I once read that women speak up to 20,000 words a day, compared to men, who speak only 12,000. So when we get home…We’re done!

It is puzzling how a woman this strikingly beautiful can’t keep a man. But the more you’re around her the more it makes sense. She says she’s been finding men on an app called J Swipe. It’s like Tinder for Jews. I asked her why that app? She said Jewish men normally appreciate women more, have good jobs, and have money. Sounds like she’s hunting for a husband. I think one of the challenges Sarika is facing is that she may be viewed more as a conquest. A creature to be captured and checked off of some list, because she’s so beautifully exotic.

She said she went out with a guy on Monday and even had a date with a pilot after our happy hour. So I assume I won’t be getting a tour of that gorgeous apartment in her building tonight. Sarika has a very busy life. She travels a great deal for her job as a scientist. I know she was formerly an engineer, but now I guess she’s a scientist. She makes great money and spends her other free time hopping on planes and taking little trips. It sounds like a fun life with all of the dating, and jet setting vacations, but it almost seems like she doesn’t want to be alone in her apartment. She’s crazy dating now. It’s good that she’s getting out there and meeting people after two years wasted with weasel man. But again, I can see men wanting her because she’s so beautiful, but she’s kind of annoying to talk to for any length of time. So if they get the opportunity to sleep with her they may not stick around.

Sarika is very intelligent and a nerd. I have taken her to Science after Hours at the Franklin Institute in the past. She loved it like a child. We went to see Jurassic World last summer, and Guardians of the Galaxy is her favorite movie. If my friend Duncan finds that up he’ll probably move up here from North Carolina. You would think guys would find that hot. A pretty girl who likes guy stuff and sci-fi, but it hasn’t worked. Maybe one of these many men that she is meeting for dates, will be rich and just marry her as a trophy wife. But sadly, people are funny about race in this country. They may want to sleep with a hot girl, but they may not want to bring and Indian woman back home to meet the family. I personally I have nothing against it. If you have been reading this blog, you know I love all different kinds of women. As Hank Moody says in the show Californication, “I got all your albums. I love you all and you and you included, Sarika.”

My buddy Church shows up at Scarpetta. I’m happy to see him. Once Sarika  goes on her date at One Tippling Place up the street, he and I can go to Square 1682 and have a drink. Church knows everybody in the restaurant and bar business in this town, so when he orders a drink and the server brings it over, she says, “This one is on Nathan.” He’s the GM there so Church got the hook up. I get another drink, but Sarika is only having the one so she doesn’t show up drunk for her date at 7:00.

While I was waiting at the bar to get my drink, Church chatted with Sarika. I was a little glad that it took the bartender a little time to get to me and make my drink. Normally I don’t like that, but I thought it would give Church a chance to talk to Sarika.

I get back to our little area by the window. We all chat a bit more. Sarika has to go soon, so she heads back to the ladies room. Church tells me she wouldn’t stop talking and it was driving him crazy. He’s been on edge lately, and listening to Sarika go on about something was annoying him. He said something to the effect, “I wanted to put a gun in my mouth.” He said she is so vacuous and self-absorbed and all she talked about was herself.

He once said that about another attractive girl who talked a lot. He was in a car with her and she was talking non stop and he said, “I wanted to leap right out of the car while it was going 70 miles per hour down the highway.”

Sarika returns, and I put her coat on for her. I tell her I will pay for the one drink she had. She tells me she’ll get me next time. I give her a kiss on the cheek good-bye and she’s off. I get the bill for my two old-fashioneds and her dainty drink. It should come to over $22 plus tax. I look at it and it’s only $15. So I got the hookup because I was with Church.

Dude certainly has the power.

I think next we’ll do a happy hour with my friend Carly.  So the night went well and again without incident.

So maybe my pretty little arachnid is finally growing up.

I love Sarika. She is beautiful, and I enjoy her company, if nobody else does, and I can’t wait to see her again.

(Oh… and if you’ve somehow found this and other stories Sarika, I’ll understand if you cut me off. The truth always hurts more than fiction)

 

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Emily – 2016 to Present – Super Baby Sister

Emily is a sweet young girl that works at one of my favorite bars. She is 22 but looks like she’s 15. She does a little bit of everything there. Bar back, hostess and server. She is really a nice little person and I always make a fuss over her. I started calling her “super baby sister” because she’s so cute.

I met with her recently at McGlinchey’s for a drink because I told her about this blog and she says she wanted a chapter. Normally I don’t tell the people about the blog because I am going to be writing about them. But Emily wants the attention. So she’s in.

I get to the bar and order my usual. Whatever the house white wine is with a side of ice. The beauty of this filthy bar is a few things. That glass of wine costs $2.60. You can smoke in this bar. The jukebox is good, and the staff is surly. The bathrooms are so gross. No doors on the stalls, so if you have to go number two you have to go next door to Jose Pistola’s, climb the steps to the third floor to take a dump in a private clean restroom. Mcglinchey’s bathrooms are so covered in graffiti I don’t even know what color the walls were ever painted. I describe going to the restroom at McGlinchey’s as if you are playing the game “Operation.” What’s the one rule in Operation? “Don’t touch the sides.” But I love that bar and have had some great memories there. Especially with my pal Johnny R.

Emily arrives and climbs up on the stool beside me. She is immediately carded. She pulls out her passport. I think this is odd, but maybe she doesn’t drive. It’s a city. Some people just don’t. She looks adorable. I bought her a pack of Marlboro 27’s  and hand her the pack. She’s very grateful because that’s her brand and cigs are expensive now.  I think part of me invited her out because I love young women. I purposely invited her out to Mcglinchey’s because I like the idea of a middle-aged man sitting in a shitty dive bar drinking and smoking with a girl who appears to be a teenager. Think what you like but that’s what I wanted to do. I’m not going to do anything to her, but I’d like to. And I’ll do it again. But nothing will happen. (Don’t worry, loyal readers, I have integrity, I’m Lorelei’s Dad.

Emily is from a small town in Pennsylvania. She is attending college here in Philly, and is in a co-op program there. She currently works at an event planning company part-time. She wants to do that for a living when she graduates. She wants to plan large-scale musical events and concerts.

She told me that she got into a relationship with a guy within a few months of entering college. They were together for a few years, but she said after a while he went schizo. That seems odd how a person would suddenly go schizo but I suppose anything is possible. Mental illness takes many forms. I know a half a dozen women that have heads full of bad wiring.

But they broke up and she was really sad. She says she suffers from anxiety and depression. I tell her I’ve suffered with both of those things my whole life. The artist’s spirit, my father used to say. I console her and tell her ways of working through your fear and sadness without drugs and alcohol. It’s a tough road to hew.

She orders a Jack and Coke and tells me that her co-op job won’t renew in the next semester so she will be working more at the bar where I see her. I tell her I have some good contacts at Live Nation, The Electric Factory, and Steezpromo. She says she’ll send me her resume and maybe I can help her get a gig at one of those places. I got my daughter Lorelei her last two jobs so I can probably help Emily too.

Emily says depression and alcoholism runs in her family. That’s pretty common. But recently she was busted for DUI. She lost her license for 90 days and had to pay a fine. She also had to take some AA related classes. She says she learned her lesson and she will never do it again. I hope she sticks to that. I tell her a few of my drunk driving stories to let her know we’ve all done it but you really should never get behind the wheel after you’ve been drinking. There are so many other options especially now in this city. UBER, Lyft, Septa, and taxis.

She says she likes to drink and hopes it doesn’t become a problem. I tell her it’s easier said than done. Alcohol is a wicked mistress. She says she hasn’t been having much luck with men since the break up with her ex. I ask her what’s she’s been up to lately. She says she hangs out with guys and they are usually drinking and she hooks up with them. She wants sex too, but she says then that’s all they want her for.

“They just treat me like a I’m a piece of meat.”

I think that’s terrible. I tell her she’s going about it all wrong. If a boy really likes you he will court you. He will take you out on proper dates. He will do thoughtful things for you. He will take you to the movies and dinner and enjoy doing things with you. If romance develops, then you will have mutual feelings for each other. At some point if you are both ready, you both agree that you want to celebrate your mutual desire for each other and celebrate that with the exchange of sexual pleasure.

I mean that’s life right? We all want that.

I know that sounds textbook, but it’s a fact. Sure, we’ve all hooked up with people in our lives. I was in three bands. I’ve had tons of tail handed over to me and I’ve relieved a few ladies of the burden of their virginity. But I was always  gentleman.

I tell Emily that she is a lovely, smart young woman who has her whole life ahead of her. Sure she gets horny, but I told her she has great value and deserves to be treasured. She has to resist her urges even if she really likes a guy and hold back.

I tell her my Tao of Steve mantra: “You always want that which retreats from you.”

Be inaccessible. Be a little allusive. It’ll make him want you more. Be unavailable. Don’t get right back to him when he texts you. Seem busy with your life. Don’t make him the center of your universe. You’re busy. You are the Sun. Until he proves his worth, he is merely a planet to you.

I tell her to stick with this advice and she’ll make better decisions. She agrees and tells me she has a date with a guy, that she met through a co-worker at the bar. I tell her that’s a good start and make sure he locks down a date and time and takes you somewhere nice to get to know you better.

Hopefully I helped her and I look forward to hearing more about how her life is going when next I see my Super Baby Sister.

 

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Bibi – 2015 – Matinee Madness

Another tale of one man’s journey through the dating scene in Philadelphia, searching for true love.

I met Bibi through Keila. Bibi’s unfortunately one of the “fleas and ticks” I told you about. This woman is 38 years old. I don’t remember what she does for a living. I had lunch with her once at El Vez on 13th and Sansom. It’s a Steven Starr Mexican restaurant. Good location and very popular. She seemed nice.

She said her mother moved to Canada and became hindu. So that’s why Bibi has the name she does. She looks western european but was given an Indian name at birth. Doesn’t make sense and isn’t a match. So we know mom must be a little nuts. Why would you do some stupid shit like that to your kid. Growing up is hard enough without having some kind of fucked up name. My dad once told me he wanted to name me Wolfgang. That would be pretty bad ass to have as an adult but not as a kid. Hey Wolfie!

So I ask her out to the movies.

We go to see the Amy Winehouse biopic, “Amy.” Now, I didn’t know much about Amy Winehouse or her music, but I heard the picture was good. I know Bibi wanted to see it. I will tell you, it is a sad story. Here was a beautifully gifted singer who was consumed by alcohol, drugs and the industry itself. The music industry has eaten so many of its own young. This is a grim portrait of the fall of a great singer.

I am a film guy. I love watching movies. I always have since I was a kid. I am a real stickler for following the rules when you go out to the movie theater. Get there on time. Preferably early, before the coming attractions. Your cell phone must be set on silent and be put away unless you are a fucking brain surgeon on call. No talking. These are all just basic common sense things about good manners in a public place.

So I’m watching this heartbreaking film about this poor lost soul with the deadly voice. (You’re not some teenager, who is sitting in some theater watching some wacky comedy. (Still not acceptable) I look over and Bibi is looking at her phone and texting people. You don’t have a husband or any kids. Who is so fucking important that they have to do that shit in the theater during the movie? I was mortified and enraged that this 38-year-old woman has such bad manners. If you’re that old and that dumb at that age, it’s over. You’ll never get any better. If you haven’t figured out what is right and what is wrong, it’s pretty clear why you are alone at nearly 40. It’s rude to me, the people around you, and to the people who made this film.

What an asshole.

So after the film we walked outside and she went to her bike. Yea. She rides around on her bike. She says, “So, what do you want to do now?”

“I’m going to go home and you’re going to do whatever you have to do.” I replied. Then I started walking home.

I never asked her out or ever spoke to her again. Unfortunately,  I have had the displeasure of running into her on occasion. But she’s always with Keila and I’m at some gathering or event. I’m civil, but she gets nothing else from me.

 

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Sun Stories – 2016 – The Case of the Missing Panties

I was working at the salon one night. We had a waiting room full of girls. (My life sucks) We have this one really great sun bed called the Max 10. It has blue lights all over it, and it is in a room right off the main room behind a pair of white double doors. That would be room 4. It’s an impressive sight when you first walk into the salon.

There was a pretty dark-haired girl in there getting tan. When she was finished she came out and sat in one of the chairs to wait for her friend to come out from her session.

I’m standing behind the counter and she turns to me and says: ” I think I lost my underwear in there.”

(What?)

“Are you sure you had your underwear on when you went in there?” was my only reply.

“I’m pretty sure.”

(You’re either sure or not about your undies on a daily basis)

“Well I’m going to go in there and prep and sanitize that bed, and if I find a pair I’ll let you know.”

(Awkward)

I go in with my spray gun, cloth and a fresh towel. Everybody in the waiting room can see me and has heard this exchange. Obviously there is some giggling. I look around the room which houses the Max 10. I look in the little chest of drawers. I look under it. I look behind it. I look on each side of the bed. I look at the back of both doors and there is nothing on anything on the hooks. I look under the little ottoman in there, and behind it. I lower the hood of the bed and look back behind it. Nothing. There is no pair of panties in this room anywhere.

I tell her I don’t see any underwear anywhere in the room, and invite her to search again for herself. She does and can’t find anything either. “It’s a good thing I didn’t wear a skirt today.” she says.

The crowd is loving it.

“Is it?” I say, and the room explodes with laughter. The girl laughs too, and is a good sport about this little mishap. It all seems like a strange mystery. How can you lose your underwear in an 8 x 6 room?

Several weeks later I was doing what I call my Sunday routine. I windex all of the mirrors in the salon and dust all of the hoods of the beds. That’s where you close the bed by lowering the hood and then dust off the top. A lot of dust gathers up there if you don’t stay on top of it.

(I’m the only employee doing it!)

I was cleaning the hood of the 5600 bed in room 3. (right next door to the Max 10 in room 4) By the way, none of the walls go to the ceiling for ventilation purposes. There is about 10 inches to a foot of space there. I lower the hood on the bed to dust it off, and there is a pink pair of women’s panties in the back of the hood and a spent packet of tanning lotion.

How did a pair of panties get from room 4 into room 3? They would have literally had to been tossed over, or shot over the wall and into the other room. I don’t know what people do in the rooms and frankly, I don’t want to know. But when I tan I always hang my underwear on one of the hooks on the door or lay them on the little table in the room. What happened in room 4 that night? Does that girl slingshot her undergarments off like she’s shooting a rubber band when she tans??

The bed has an air conditioner and fans in it. But I know for a fact that the fans in the Max 10 do not have the power to lift a pair of women’s underwear aloft and sail them over the wall into the adjacent room.

It’s bizarre and funny, because although I’ve found all sorts of things left behind in the rooms while cleaning them, I’ve never seen anything like this before.

I told my partner Achilles about how I solved the mystery. I was really proud of myself, and I got a funny story out of it. His only response was : “Did you sniff ’em?”

I threw them in the trash.

 

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Dina -4/2011 to Present – Lil’ JAP

I met Dina at a publication I first worked for when I came back to Philly from New York. It actually was to be the last year I would work there before moving on to something else. She was working as an intern in the marketing department. She worked with this woman named Mildred that was always sort of an ogre. Sadly I refer to Mildred as “Dick Repellant.”

I have known Dina since she was 21 years old. She is now 27. So the friendship has sustained itself. I meet a lot of crazy people, but there are some good ones in there, so I poach them.

Dina is a very cute little Jewish girl. She’s stands only 4’11” tall. She is smart as a whip and a delight to be around. She comes from a good family as well. She has a twin brother that looks nothing like her. He is tall and muscular and dumb as a post. I mean that in a nice way. She’s said it herself. It’s like she is small and cute, and smart, and he is all big and brawny. You’d never peg them as relatives.

When I met her she was like Mildred’s little slave. I’d see this little girl pushing these giant carts of boxes filled with swag and marketing supplies around the halls of the building. I knew that she wouldn’t stick around long.

She was too smart for that lame gig.

She eventually moved on to work for a start-up down in Old City. Funny thing was, I had also moved on to a start-up that had an office two blocks away! Two years later when I moved on to a different publication, I worked in an office building in center city on JFK Blvd. She worked in a high-rise as a broker two blocks away.

She recently moved to the city and so did her parents. She is now married and lives on my street just four blocks away. Her parents love the city, and now that her dad is semi retired, they bought a house two blocks away. We can’t escape each other!

I would sometimes meet her for drinks with Mildred. I tried to like Mildred but she just has a difficult personality. I’ll write about her at some point. Dina and I both agree we’d rather hang out with each other without Mildred, because she is kind of a pain in the ass.

I would take Dina to a lot of events I would get invited out to. Her husband is a really nice, smart guy that has a great job. He likes to stay at home and watch sports on TV. So he doesn’t mind if I borrow his wife for food and drinks on occasion. I like a man who is secure in himself and doesn’t get jealous. I have always been that way. Besides I’m not after Dina.

Some time has gone by…

I met with Dina today for lunch at one of my favorite spots.  Misconduct on JFK Blvd. She now works with her father and they have their own brokerage business. He does mostly stock investments and she handles financial planning. I think maybe I’ll give her some of my money to invest in January. I trust her. I once spoke to her father about brokerage years ago on the phone.

Well, today after lunch he came to the restaurant and I finally got to shake the man’s hand. He invited me to come over sometime. I would love that. They had to get to an appointment so we said goodbye. Dina is going on a cruise this weekend, and then to a wedding. So I’ll catch up with her in a few weeks. Hopefully now that she is back in the city I’ll be seeing her more and we’ll get some more stories.

The bill came and Dina had already paid it! I love her!

 

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Michelle – 2007 to Present – Chapter 9 – Friends of Rittenhouse Ball on Square

One night Michelle and I finished work and did what we always did. Went out for a few drinks. We ended up down in Rittenhouse Square. There was this huge really posh gala going on. We were accustomed to just going wherever the night took us back then and based on our antics in New York, we probably thought we were indestructible. She was still living at City View out at 20th and Spring Garden, and I was still in my little apartment over in Pennsauken, NJ.

We come upon this event going on inside Rittenhouse Square Park. It’s the biggest event of the season. They hold this huge event every Spring. All Rittenhouse people. Wealthy people. People of commerce. Everybody is dressed up in their finest. Big white tents. Live band. A stage with a dance floor. White tablecloths on every table. Beautiful high-end trailers with bathrooms that are nicer than the one in your house. Law enforcement posted at every entrance and exit.  Butlers walking around with amazing hors d’ouevers. Not that pigs in a blanket shit. Like fat delicious shrimp and sushi, crazy meats, and puffy stuffed pastries. Wine and champagne is flowing freely. Cocktails being mixed and poured at two bars.

This is an $800 a plate ticketed charity event. There is no way a couple of advertising sales reps are getting in to this event.

I’m wearing a black suit and tie. Michelle is in slacks and a nice blouse. We walked up to the entrance where they were checking people in. I whip out my ID lanyard from the company I work for. It looks official, It has my photo, my name and name of the media company on it. I tell the lady that’s doing intake where I’m from and what I’m representing. Basically using my account executive ID to trick her that we’re with some sort of press. I look official and approachable and Michelle is hot. She has the same ID with her info on it.

They let us in. We couldn’t believe it. We’re going to stuff our heads with free snacks and wine. Bonnie and Clyde have arrived. We’re chatting with all these rich people and sipping wine. They were all so nice to us. One of them even asked if I’d like to secure my briefcase in their suite across the street at the Claridge. Nobody knew we didn’t belong there. You know why? Because when we went somewhere we acted like we belonged there. Like we had tickets to the event. It was just raw confidence. Maybe it was arrogance too. But whatever it was, we definitely had it going on.

Just good old sexy mojo.

Michelle was having a blast but she felt underdressed. I told her she looked great, but she insisted she run home and change. She wants to put on a nice dress. I’m telling you, we were out of control. So I slam down the rest of my chardonnay and start heading for the exit.

Who do we run into on the way out?

The President of the company we work for. Not the vice president of operations. Not the general manager. Not our sales manager. But the President! Top dog. Head Honcho. Big Cheese.

He’s with his Indian wife. They obviously have tickets. He sees Michelle and gets all excited. Because everybody loves hot Michelle. He says “Are you attending this event tonight?” We’re like, “Yea, but we just need to step out for a minute, We’ll be right back.” He didn’t give a shit about me. If he ever had the unfortunate luck to have to share an elevator with me at work, he wouldn’t even speak to me. He’d just play with his phone. But that fat fuck loved Michelle. And I had a thing that he wanted. I’m sure it just made him loathe my existence all the more. But I didn’t give a shit.

So we tell the nice people at the door we will be right back. They don’t bat an eye. Now, if we had simply left at that moment and didn’t return, I can’t honestly say for sure that things would have turned out any differently for us.

Yea… but they probably would have, but we’re not having any of it.

We blaze back to her apartment in a taxi. We get there relatively quickly. She dashes into the apartment and gets changed. Within minutes, she emerges in a black cocktail dress and heels. She looks stunning. But I liked the way she looked any old way. But this was perfect for the Ball at Square. We jet back to the party and walk up to entrance again. “Remember us?” I say, smiling. We walk right back in, no questions asked. We grab a couple of drinks, and we’re back into it. I can see the President off to the side chatting with some other men.

The band is in full swing, and Michelle and I decide to hit the stage. We are dancing, and it’s lovely. There may have been maybe two other older couples up there, cutting the rug, but for the life of me I can’t remember. I was just lost in this moment, dancing with the woman I loved. Right in the middle of Rittenhouse Park. We own this place too.

After our dance, we grabbed a couple more wines. I was chatting with someone, and Michelle was seated chatting with the President’s wife. She was a lovely Indian woman. I know she didn’t drink or smoke. But of course Prez was a drunken oaf.

After a while people started sitting down to the $800 a plate charity dinner. We thought it best if we didn’t try to weasel in on that, or clip any of the gift bags.

We made our way out of the main tent, and were sitting on a little bench on the edge of the event. Before us was a little table with a candle on it and a bowl of popcorn. We munched on the popcorn, and reflected on how fun it was for a couple of hours to be a part of such an exclusive event.

I glanced to my left and saw one of the ladies that had let us in twice speaking with law enforcement. The officer approached us and said that we had to leave. We were respectful and he escorted us off the property. We thanked him, and went on our way, heading west on Walnut street.

Michelle insisted that we were probably going to get fired. I told her that wasn’t going to happen. I eventually calmed her down and we ended up going to a piano bar. We ended the night singing along with a bunch of other revelers to the songs of Billy Joel, Elton John and more!

The Prez? Just a fat drunken, cigar chomping narcissistic sociopath. (That’s what I’ve been told by a reliable source that worked closely with the man) He and his lovely wife ended up getting divorced years later. She probably got tired of his drunken womanizing. I once had a drink with the owner of the company, and he said the President’s expense reports were astronomical. Just a fucking a pig. He got like liposuction or something after his divorce because he dropped the weight fast.  He looked like a bobble head.

He ended up banging some chick from Jersey they brought in to do a wine show on the website. What we eventually found out, she formerly worked as an escort. Yep. So The Prez lost his nice wife and married a whore. Seems fitting.

But we had a great fucking time.

Tune in two weeks from now, and see if our heroes get fired, or at least reprimanded for their unmitigated repugnant attitude towards authority.

Michelle always said: “I have so much fun with you, that when the day is over, I wish we could do it all again.”

 

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