Thursday, September 13, 2007

Cars, Restaurants, Bars, and Lies Part II

My experience with beautiful woman, limited as it may be, has always been they don’t do the talking. They are used to guys falling all over themselves to get to know them, so they don’t have to say much. If they stay quiet the guy will eventually say something stupid to kill any shot he had. That way the hot girl doesn’t have to be the bitch. The guy will just verbally hang himself, she’ll just walk away, he on the other hand, will realize he never had a shot in the first place. You go your way, I’ll go mine. She will tell her friends the guy was a total pig, he will tell his friends she’s a stuck-up bitch. No harm, no foul.

Keeping this principle in mind and now feeling a quick buzz, I’m thoroughly prepared to bring my verbal A game. The chances of me seeing this girl ever again are slim, so I had to bring it strong. I’m rich, (trade hedge funds) I’ve traveled the world many times over (mostly to buy art), I have two houses (East and West coasts), wait three, the one in Costa Rica still under construction. I’m producing a movie; I throw some mid-level not quite C-list actors who are attached to the project. I want to be somewhat believable. Even Bobby was blown away with my impressive stream of bullshit. He just looked at me, the way a young impressionable student would gaze at his favorite teacher; in awe, in total awe…

She then asked me “What’s a hedge fund?” That’s when I diverted her attention replying “ It’s complicated” since I don’t know a hedge fund from a hedge hog and then yelled “Who wants shots?”. Bobby and number two, me and number one, threw down a quick shot of Sambuca. Let the good times roll!

Bobby pulls me aside and offers “These girls are fuckin’ hot”. Now I know he’s not interested in the hotter of the two. Then he says “I wanna hang out with this guy with the three houses and the hedges and all”. I said “You are hanging out with him tonight, so don’t screw it up by talking too much. I’ll do most of the talking and if we play our card right we might just get laid tonight”
”They want to play us in cards?” He dumbly asked. No, you fool. Just don’t talk so much. I shot back.

“EYE-EYE CAP’N” he said happily.

Regardless of what Bobby would have you believe, neither of us closed that night. Morgan is the name of the girl I was with. I didn’t really believe that was her first name, but it is. The name “Morgan” reminds me of either a porn star or rich WASPY only child, who is waited on by a staff of domestic help. They could be one and the same. I mean Morgan could be a rich little girl who has had everything handed to her in life. But, as a teenager she rebels against her parents and heads west to the San Fernando Valley with nothing but a backpack and a million dollar trust fund and pursues a life of porn. It could happen I guess?

I made out with Morgan for awhile, we played a little grab-ass together but no clothes were shed. I left her hotel room with four things; a hard-on, blue balls and her phone number. Frustrated and happy all at once, I went back to my room and rapidly lost three of the four.

We all skied the next day and got to know each other a little better. Morgan and her friend, Lisa left to go back to Connecticut later that day. So we didn’t get to spend another night in the bar together.

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