Cherie – Chapter 9 – Misconduct on your Birthday

“You’re hot like coffee, but sweet like chocolate”

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The Wednesday before her 27th birthday arrives. The day before I had called my friend Keila, who is great at all things party and presents. I tell her my dilemma in regard to what I could get Cherie for her birthday. She offers some good suggestions.

I head to Starbucks. I get in line and ask the guy behind me what’s a good dollar amount for a gift card. He says go with $20 because Starbucks is expensive coffee. I get the card and then head to my next destination.  I walk into the shops at Liberty Place. I know Cherie likes milk chocolate so I scope out a little something of that variety. The girl working is very nice and guides me to a little box of six different kinds of truffles. Looks perfect and I know Cherie will love it. Cherie isn’t expecting anything so it’ll make it even better when I surprise her. I ask the girl if she can wrap it up and she says she can put some fancy birthday ribbon on it. I pay for it and she puts it in a fancy Godiva gift bag with some nice tissue paper around it. She asks me if I want a little card and I agree. It’s blank, which I like. I always have to put my words in cards, none of that store-bought nonsense.

I move out to the center of the mall and sit at a quiet table. I have about 30 minutes to kill so I can get things set up. I write a little witty prose in the card and put her name on the envelope. I slide the Starbucks gift card under the ribbon. Now I’ve got a great little gift for my lady.

I head over to Misconduct restaurant at 18th and JFK Blvd. I’m early, and my favorite hostess is there. (See: Mary – Unexpected Table for Two) I tell her what I’m up to and she’s down. She says she’ll hold the gift under the hostess stand next to her purse and we’ll use a code phrase when I want her to bring it to the table. She also reserves my favorite table, #12.

Cherie is texting me that she’s leaving Temple University. I know it’s going to be a nightmare for her to get down here and park. Septa has recently gone on strike again, and that always causes a great deal of major problems for the city and it’s commuters. There’ll be heavier traffic, little parking on the streets, and full parking lots. I recently spoke with an UBER driver, assuming they would be killing it during the strike, but he said no. There are so many more cars on the streets because everybody has to drive in to the city, that they aren’t getting enough fares fast enough to break even. So even the alternative taxi services are screwed when Septa strikes.

Lunch is at 12:30 but I know that Cherie won’t make it until after 1:00pm with all of this nonsense going on. I’m sitting at my table, sipping my water, looking at my phone, and chatting with the staff. I have my little surprise gift hidden and I don’t care how long it takes her to get down here, I’m just happy I’m going to see her.

She’s texting me and getting frustrated. She doesn’t want to be late, but I assure her I understand and to just be safe. She finally finds parking and says she’ll be there shortly. The server jokes that she thinks I’ve been stood up, or this is all just a lie so I could come in and chat with her and the hostess.

“You work for tips, right?”

She laughs.

Cherie arrives. She looks lovely. Custom fit black leather jacket over what appears to be a burgundy top that is low-cut in the front. As she approaches the table, I stand. Her skirt is short and grey. She is wearing black leather ankle boots. That combination showcases her shapely legs. We hug, but avoid the PDA. (Public Display of Affection) She apologizes for being late and compliments me on my patience as always. I really don’t mind waiting for her. I know she comes from a great distance most of the time. Septa has screwed up the city, and finding parking in center city is brutal. It’s not that she’s recklessly late every time. There are just extenuating circumstances that she’s constantly up against to see me.

So baby gets a pass.

She orders some crazy Cowboy Burger that I’ve never ordered and I get my usual Chicken tenders and a little bowl of mac and cheese to share.

Lunch is lovely, and the conversation and laughter are lively. The staff is on point, and the food is great as always. We get the check, and I give them my card. When the server brings it back for me to sign, I give them the code phrase. “Can you tell me when tea time is?” I didn’t come up with this line, the hostess did. She comes over and places the Godiva bag down on the table. Cherie seems really surprised.

“Happy Birthday, Cher. I know you said you didn’t want anything but me for your birthday, but I had to get you a little something.”

“What’s this? You’re so sweet!” She exclaims.  She’s looking at the candy and Starbucks card, but then goes for the little card with her name on it. Opening it quickly she reads it, and starts smiling. It reads:

“Cherie, You’re hot like coffee, but sweet like chocolate” Love, Me XO”

“Thank you so much. You didn’t have to do this.” She’s holding the little card. “I like this…”

We leave the restaurant. We’ve been there for about two hours. Her car is parked all the way down at 20th and Bainbridge. A little bit of a hike from Misconduct. She made better time than I thought. We get to the Saab and hop in. Her skirt is riding up a little. Her thighs are tantalizing. Some kissing ensues. But like I said, it’s still light out, and people are walking by, some with strollers. Her window is open, so if I’m smooching her, and I see someone with kids or a stroller approaching in the rearview mirror, I start talking about church or some bible reference. Hoping they see that we are just good christians having a heartfelt conversation about God. But once they are past, I’m back at her.

We both realize, this whole making out in the car is an invitation to the C-Blockers. We know where this relationship is heading like a speeding train. It’s inevitable. Then I get an idea. I tell her to drive. We go a few blocks east and I have her hang a left.

“When you see a parking spot anywhere up here just hop in it.” We find one right in front of a restaurant. Perfect.

“Where are we going?”

“You’ll see. Trust me. You’ll like it.”

It’s getting dark now. I take her to the tanning salon. We walk up the stairs, but instead of going in, we throw a left and open a door to the space in the front of the building that’s unlocked and un-rented This is the spot where Achilles and I were going to open our spin bike gym. It should have been open for three months by now, but the owner decided to sell the building. That put everything on hold. Sadly, the space still remains empty. The one whole wall is glass from floor to ceiling. Great view of the night street below. People are bustling by and the street is filled with angry motorists, blowing their horns and gridlocked because of the Septa strike. The space is quiet and if feels safe above the street. I kill the ceiling fans, and throw the switch to turn off the overhead lights. Now the space is dark. There’s a leather love seat by the window. I push it across the hardwood floor to the back corner. There’s no way anyone can see us from the street. I text my co-worker and friend, Trish, (See: Trish – The She Wolf) who is next door working at the salon that I am in the empty space out front. I decide it’s better if I stop over with Cherie, and make an appearance.

We go next door. Trish is happy to see us. I introduce Cherie to Trish, and I can see they are hitting it off. I tell Trish that we don’t want to sit in a bar somewhere, so we’re just going to be next door enjoying the view and chilling. We go back to our leather love seat next door. I lock the door behind us. So no one can see us coming to the salon and no one can see us from the street.

The romance ensues. It’s such a great space. if someone said to me a year ago, that I’d be not only working at this salon, but I’d be next door in the space where I was supposed to open a spin bike gym, making out with a beautiful young woman, I’d think they were nuts. But here we were. It all felt so illicit. I knew we weren’t doing anything wrong. The space is empty, it’s 7pm at night, no one can see us, and my buddy Trish knows we’re there.

I have vowed to try to keep these stories PG-13, but the limits are slowly being pushed into R rated territory. I don’t know how I can continue to write this story about Cherie, without including some sort of 18+ warning. But maybe I can share a few things that were said over the next hour or so. (Or I will at least embellish so you get it.)

Cherie: “I like your new jeans. Have you tested the zipper enough?”

Me: What? Ohhhhh…. Who are you, Monica Lewinski?

Me: “Okay, so the top you’re wearing is just a one piece jumpsuit? Do you have to take the whole thing down to use the restroom?”

Cherie: “No. There are two snaps right here at the bottom, see?” *Snap! *Snap!

Me: “So from the eyebrows down…no hair?”

Cherie: “Oh my God… You’re incredible. That feels amazing!

You get the picture. It was just a little preview for the coming days, so to speak. It was like we had been shopping for a car for the last few dates. We took a couple out for a little test drive that night, and were ready to make a purchase the next time we we’re together. It was simply inevitable. We literally couldn’t take it anymore. The great thing was. She’s not much of a drinker, so after all of our dates, I have never had one drop of alcohol or smoked a cigarette around her. I don’t mind, because when I’m with Cherie, I want for nothing but her and her alone. It feels great.

So after that bit of third base activity, we decide to get out of there. I walk her to her car and kiss her goodnight. I’m only a few blocks from my house so I head home. It feels nice to walk in the cool October night and reflect on our passion. Cherie said she wants me for her birthday and I want to grant her wish. I just need to figure where and how I can make that happen.

Cherie and I have reached critical mass and something has to be done.

 

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Church – 2013 to Present -Seizure Salad

I’m sitting in my go to bar with Church. It’s our spot and it’s what we do. He’s sipping a Sailor Jerry and Coke, and I’m having my usual Chardonnay with a side of ice. He orders a salad and I go with the sliders. There is a couple a few seats down from me to my right. I know the guy, his name is Brian, but I don’t know the lady he’s with so I wave but don’t approach. He could be working.

On the left of Church, is a brunette in her thirties and an older gentleman. Looks like a lawyer. We don’t really pay any attention. We’re chatting and doing our thing.

Daphne rolls behind the bar and says hello. She tells me it’s a slow night. Not much happening. She goes back to her hostess stand and it’s just another night in paradise.

Suddenly, the woman who was sitting to Church’s left, goes off the bar stool and hits the floor. Normally, I’d call that Thursday night.  We see so many banged up people around the city losing their shit. But this woman was having a seizure. People within visual range are shocked and the bar goes quiet.

I point to the phone on the wall, because the bartender on duty didn’t see one of her patrons suddenly vanish from the bar. “Liz, call 911.”

She starts dialing. Church, with his cat-like reflexes, springs into action and goes from sitting next to me sipping a drink to all the way around the other side of her on the floor holding her head to keep her steady. I get down there and untangle her leg from the lower rail of his bar stool. I have the legs. Church is focuses on the poor woman’s head. She’s thrashing about, and Church is barking commands to those around him. He’s literally single-handedly coordinating the effort to help save this poor woman, and keeping her from injuring herself further.

I don’t know if I’ve mentioned this before, but Church was formerly a Corpsmen in the United States Navy.

A Corpsman works in a wide variety of capacities and locations, including shore establishments such as naval hospitals and clinics, aboard ships, and as the primary medical caregivers for sailors while underway. Hospital corpsmen are frequently the only medical caregiver available in many fleet or Marine units on extended deployment. In addition, hospital corpsmen perform duties as assistants in the prevention and treatment of disease and injury and assist health care professionals in providing medical care to sailors and their families.

They may function as clinical or specialty technicians, medical administrative personnel and health care providers at medical treatment facilities. They also serve as battlefield corpsmen with the Marine Corps, rendering emergency medical treatment to include initial treatment in a combat environment. Qualified hospital corpsmen may be assigned the responsibility of independent duty aboard ships and submarines; Fleet Marine Service, SEAL and Seabee units, and at isolated duty stations where no medical officer is available.

Yea, pretty bad ass. That’s the guy you want next to you when somebody takes a header at your favorite bar.

She’s making what almost sounds like barking sounds, and staring wildly about. He’s got a good hold on her. He’s talking to her. But mostly he’s trying to keep her from bashing her face into the wooden wall of the bar. The bartender comes around, and some others have gathered. I grab a cloth napkin and ask if we need to put it in her mouth. I always heard that epileptics could bite or swallow their own tongues. Church says, no. He knows what he’s doing and has the situation well under control.

She seems to be calming down. I look over at the guy who was with her. He’s just standing there staring, and looking uncomfortable. The paramedics come and stabilize her. I feel so bad for her. It’s the holidays, and she’s out for a drinks and this horror befalls her. They get her onto the gurney and roll her out. The police are there and also ask some questions. Church is on point, he gives law enforcement the full report.

They also speak to the guy she came in with. He says he doesn’t know her very well. He met her over at DelFrisco’s steakhouse, and then brought her over here for a drink. That’s a big lawyer hang out. Not my scene. This guy didn’t do anything to help or comfort her when she had the seizure, and he didn’t go to the hospital with her. I don’t care if you just picked up the chick in a bar. Lady falls down, you go to the damn hospital with her. I’m thinking that weasel was married and didn’t want any problems. How would he explain to his wife that he was at the hospital with some other woman? I may be wrong, but I got the vibe something was definitely shady about that guy.

We go back to our seats at the bar and have another drink. Church is pissed because somebody was telling him to turn her head when she was foaming at the mouth and that’s not what you’re supposed to do. Me, I was just glad the lady was okay.

Daphne came over to chat and get a recap. I tell her what I know, and tease her.”You had to say it was a slow night and that nothing was happening, and look what you did, Daph…”

“I know, right? Me and my big mouth.”

Indeed…

 

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Michelle – 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 – 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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Michelle – 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.”

 

Thank you for reading my blog. Please read, like, comment, and most of all follow Phicklephilly. I publish every Monday, Tuesday & Wednesday at 9am EST.

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Michelle – Chapter 8 – New York City – Sunday

We woke up sometime the next morning in our motel room. I started calling it the Guns and Roses suite because there were clothes and stuff strewn everywhere. We got ourselves together and got back to Journal Square and headed back into the city. The Path train took us back to 32nd and Sixth Avenue.  We headed east and found a nice breakfast spot. I think it was the first time either of us ever drank Bloody Marys. We kind of needed them. It had been a long night.

After breakfast we hung out in a park. There was live music and people walking their dogs. I was sitting in the grass, leaning against a tree. It was such a beautiful sunny day. Michelle was leaning against me, and I was just happy to be holding her close. We stayed there for a while and then headed downtown. We stopped somewhere in SOHO so Michelle could use the restroom. When she came out she said, “That is literally the filthiest restroom I have ever gone in.” I don’t even know if she was able to go. I know this has nothing to do with the story, but I just remembered it.

We went to this nice restaurant and started drinking martinis. Which for us is never a good choice, but back then we drank a lot of martinis. They get you there fast. But sometimes take you too far. Michelle liked her martinis dirty. I prefer them straight up with a twist. Ketel One if they have it. Ketel is my favorite vodka. I once met the 9th generation son of the family that invented Ketel One. I still have the signed bottle on my mantle.

My rule on martinis is this: One is not enough. Two is too many. Three is just right.

We met another couple and were having a great time chatting with them. The drinks and laughs were flowing. Our server was really nice too. It was a really nice place. We were both periodically getting up to use the restroom, because I suppose the alcohol was going through us. I don’t remember whose idea it was, and I don’t even know why, but at some point it was decided that we were going to run out on our bill. We were really sweet, nice people.  Why would they even ask for a credit card up front. We would never do anything like that.

But we did.

Again, we were drunk, and in a strange city. We pulled some crazy shit in Philly as you will read in the coming chapters, but as far as I can remember, we never did that. I still feel ashamed about that and I’m sure Michelle does too. But I’m sure some karma has already come around and hit us both in different ways. When you do that, the bill comes back on the server. So we screwed him out of over $160 that night. Please don’t ever do this. It’s terrible behavior, but we were out of control back then. Like Bonnie and Clyde. There is no excuse for what we did. If I could remember where that bar is in New York, and that guy still worked there, I would go hand him $200 for us being punk ass morons.

So we dash out of there, and hail a cab. Michelle is freaking out thinking we’re going to get caught. I think she was having some problem with her shoe or something. We jump in the taxi and tell the driver to take us to Times Square. The funniest part I think for me was when Michelle saw police lights in the distance behind us. She switched out her scarf for a yellow pashmina and put it on her head as a disguise. I don’t think the NYPD is interested in assholes that run out on their bar bills. There’s real crime in New York.

We do pay the fare for the cab and hop out at Broadway and Seventh. Right in the heart of Times Square. We are drunk and exhilarated. I remember standing on this little concrete island in the middle of the street and just kissing Michelle deeply. It was one of those landmark Hollywood film moments. The couple in love. New York City blazing around them. The sights. The sounds of the city. All of the colors, and lights, and cabs, and people. The camera whirls around them as they kiss. All is a blur but them. It is a shining symbol of everything they are at that moment. I am so in love with her. I’m not afraid. I want to be with her forever.

This mighty city that discarded me and sent me packing back to Philadelphia a year ago. I have now returned briefly with my queen. To conquer and plunder its walls.

We stumble down the street. Everything is awash in lights and sounds of the city. We decide we’ve had enough, and want to go back to our room at the motel. We walk about a block when we come upon a stretch limousine. The driver sticks his head out the window, and says “I want the cologne he’s wearing.” He says, obviously referring to Michelle. She says something about how it’s not the cologne, it’s the man. My head swells with pride. “Want a ride?” he says.

“You serious?”

“Sure, where ya goin’?”

“The PATH train.”

“Get in.”

I kid you not, that happened. We get in and there is beer and other booze in the car. There are also bags of goodies. Somebody else’s stuff. I toss a beer to Michelle, and crack one myself. We’re laughing and chatting with the driver. Despite our recent foray into crime,  we decide not to steal any of the stuff in the limo. It’s obvious, this chauffeur was parked waiting for whoever hired him, and just wanted make a quick fare to kill time. There was a bottle of this gross Seagram’s raspberry twist. Which is just an awful liqueur. Michelle stuffed it in her bag. (It was half full, and that’s all we took.) So here are these two fugitives from justice, drunk and in love, being driven to the train station in a stretch limo. I slide the guy like $30 and we thank him and hop out.

There was something about the energy that Michelle and I gave off when we were together. It’s not something you could see, but something you could feel. We would get access to whatever we wanted. No matter if we were supposed to be there or not. I’d be in a suit with my trustworthy face, and she with her radiant beauty. In the coming chapters you’ll see how this happened over and over. We literally could get away with anything.

We get back to the Guns and Roses suite at the Skyline Motel. This has been a crazy weekend. This is the also the first time I made love to Michelle. I was nervous, but madly in love. I remember at one point I looked up at the mirror on the ceiling. I couldn’t believe that was me up there making love to Michelle. Everybody wanted her. But she chose me.

There was something I didn’t mention before. As genetically perfect as Michelle is, she is terribly myopic. It’s like God created her, stepped back and thought, that’s too good. Let me just screw up her eyes a little so she develops some character. Let me give you an example of how blind my baby is. After we fool around, she goes to use the bathroom. The room is dark. I’m on the bed. I pull the sheet over my head. She comes out and says, “Where’d you go?” I pull down the sheet. “Oh God, I thought you left the room.” This chick is blind. I always told her that it was a good thing. Because as her vision gets worse, and I get older, she’ll still think I look good!

We’re lying in bed together. “So…are you my girlfriend now?”

“What do you think?” Michelle replies.

I’m really happy. I’ve won.We fall asleep in each others arms.

To be honest with you, I don’t remember much else of this trip. I don’t even remember driving home. I know I had the bottle of awful liqueur in my closet at my apartment for a year before I threw it out. Maybe if I turn this blog into a book, I’ll have more details about everything. All I know is, I was in love, and being with Michelle were some of the best times of my life.

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

 

Thank you for reading my blog. Please read, like, comment, and most of all follow Phicklephilly. I publish every Monday, Tuesday & Wednesday at 9am EST.

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Church – Brand Ambassador

I was working for alcohol based magazine a few years ago. I sold advertising into the publication. They had been around for about three years.

We would attend these events to meet representatives from different brands. We hoped it would lead to more advertising. There was this one guy, that had a big presence, and a booming voice. His presentations for the products he was representing were always lively and interesting. My boss at the time told me that he was someone I should meet. Which I proceeded to do.

I met with him on several occasions. I could tell he genuinely wanted to help me. He knew everybody in the industry. You couldn’t walk in place without someone talking to him. He started inviting me out to events. I remember once I was out pounding the pavements and he saw me. He got out of his car, popped his trunk and handed me a bottle of Black Grouse. No reason at all. “You’re always out here working.” He said.

He’s given me so many great bottles of booze as gifts. And again, he does it for no reason. Real giving. He’ll just hand you a fifth of something because he likes you.

I remember two years ago when I was struggling with my then girlfriend, (Future series: Annabelle) Annabelle was younger that I was, and just giving me fits because she was being a selfish asshole. Or as I call it, ‘a girl in her twenties’. We we’re at some meeting, and Church pulls me aside, and says: “I can see you’re suffering. Let’s get out of here.”

We get in his car and he drives me down to a gentleman’s club on Columbus Blvd. He ordered me food, and said as long as I drank the brand he was representing, it was free! He handed me a $20 and sent me in the back with a pretty dancer for a private lap dance. Like I said before, I’m not really into the whole lap dance thing, but the whole experience was so thoughtful and really cheered me up. I made up with Annabelle the next day, by the way. But that’s just how Church is. If he has it, he’ll always share it with you.

We’ve grown close over the last few years. He lives out in Westchester, which isn’t near Philly, but whenever he’s in town working, we’ll meet up. We have confided in each other when we were struggling with different things life has hurtled at us. Employment. Wife stuff. Ex-wife stuff. People we’ve met. Things that have happened. We’ve been there for each other to talk whoever is on the ledge down from it.

Church has a good heart. He’s a very generous and decent man. He has been married for over 8 years and I think he’s known his wife even longer than that. Sometimes he gets a little hot about people being assholes, but who doesn’t?   I wanted to introduce Church to you all because he will be making several ongoing appearances in this story.

Did I mention that he’s awesome?

 

Thank you for reading my blog. Please read, like, comment, and most of all follow Phicklephilly. I publish every Monday at 9am EST.

I publish new Dating content every Monday at 9am EST. I publish Updates and bios and stories about Non-Dating related characters, such as male and female friends, on TuesdaysWednesdays at 9am EST.