JК
Ыоуве Been Warned :: Patterson James
Страница: 49 из 138“Listen, you sorry-assed Kurt Cobain wannabe, did you ever think that maybe it’s your playing that’s hurting business and not me?”
He’s speechless, songless too, and I’m already halfway down the block.
I’ve got somewhere to go after all.
Chapter 37
WHEN I LEFT BOSTON and traded the Red Sox for the Yankees, I brought three things with me to Manhattan. A suitcase. A boyfriend.
And Bob.
There are undoubtedly far more inspired nicknames for a pickup truck than Bob, but I’ve always liked the simplicity of it. Besides, we’re talking about a 1980 Ford F-100 with more than 180,000 miles on it. Even the rust has rust. A fancy name just wouldn’t feel right.
I hurry over to First Avenue, where I park Bob at an outdoor lot. The indoor garages can cost more than some apartments here – like mine, for instance. Still, I don’t get off cheap. Three hundred and fifty bucks a month, to be exact. That makes broken-down Bob, with his missing hubcaps and leaky engine, my greatest luxury in this city. Crazy, huh?
But today he’s worth every single penny. Today Bob screams freedom, maybe even salvation.
The crosstown traffic is its usual bear, and I’m worrying that I might be late. When a Macy’s delivery truck ahead of me doesn’t move the nanosecond a light turns green, I obnoxiously bang on my horn. It doesn’t take much to bring out my inner cabdriver.
Approaching the building, I know I can’t park too close. Bob doesn’t exactly blend in.
After circling the block a couple of times, I luck out with a spot that’s a safe distance from the entrance. I reach for my cell and dial the apartment, hitting *67 first to block the caller ID.
Michael answers.
Good, they haven’t left yet.
For the second time this morning, I hang up on him. Then I adjust my sunglasses, sink down in Bob’s front seat, and get busy.
Waiting.
Soon I see Michael emerge from the building. I immediately want to rush out and go to him, kick his shins, and call him a nasty name. Then I’ll kiss him so hard he can barely breathe. We’ll escape to the nearest alley and have amazing, passionate makeup sex – no, wait, better yet, we’ll fuck, like rabbits, like minks, or like whatever other furry creatures top the most-horny list.
“Have a nice day with your in-laws!” I’ll say when we’re done.
Instead, I stay right here with Bob, watching.
Michael disappears around the corner. A few minutes later, he returns with the “family car,” a shiny black Mercedes, the G-class.
He’s speechless, songless too, and I’m already halfway down the block.
I’ve got somewhere to go after all.
Chapter 37
WHEN I LEFT BOSTON and traded the Red Sox for the Yankees, I brought three things with me to Manhattan. A suitcase. A boyfriend.
And Bob.
There are undoubtedly far more inspired nicknames for a pickup truck than Bob, but I’ve always liked the simplicity of it. Besides, we’re talking about a 1980 Ford F-100 with more than 180,000 miles on it. Even the rust has rust. A fancy name just wouldn’t feel right.
I hurry over to First Avenue, where I park Bob at an outdoor lot. The indoor garages can cost more than some apartments here – like mine, for instance. Still, I don’t get off cheap. Three hundred and fifty bucks a month, to be exact. That makes broken-down Bob, with his missing hubcaps and leaky engine, my greatest luxury in this city. Crazy, huh?
But today he’s worth every single penny. Today Bob screams freedom, maybe even salvation.
The crosstown traffic is its usual bear, and I’m worrying that I might be late. When a Macy’s delivery truck ahead of me doesn’t move the nanosecond a light turns green, I obnoxiously bang on my horn. It doesn’t take much to bring out my inner cabdriver.
Approaching the building, I know I can’t park too close. Bob doesn’t exactly blend in.
After circling the block a couple of times, I luck out with a spot that’s a safe distance from the entrance. I reach for my cell and dial the apartment, hitting *67 first to block the caller ID.
Michael answers.
Good, they haven’t left yet.
For the second time this morning, I hang up on him. Then I adjust my sunglasses, sink down in Bob’s front seat, and get busy.
Waiting.
Soon I see Michael emerge from the building. I immediately want to rush out and go to him, kick his shins, and call him a nasty name. Then I’ll kiss him so hard he can barely breathe. We’ll escape to the nearest alley and have amazing, passionate makeup sex – no, wait, better yet, we’ll fuck, like rabbits, like minks, or like whatever other furry creatures top the most-horny list.
“Have a nice day with your in-laws!” I’ll say when we’re done.
Instead, I stay right here with Bob, watching.
Michael disappears around the corner. A few minutes later, he returns with the “family car,” a shiny black Mercedes, the G-class.