Speaking of which. She called. No, not Ann, Nancy. Pay attention! I spent part of it complaining about suburbia. Part of it listening to how great her life was. And part of it telling her about Ann. She didn’t believe me when I said that Ann was different from the other women I had recently been with. I mean, for one thing, I had never slept with Ann. To which Nancy reminded me that I had never slept with Sam at the agency, either, before I picked her up in the elevator, took her back to my penthouse suite, got her naked and yessssss…Most of which was never actually said but I really enjoyed dwelling on for a moment as Nancy kept talking. However, what Nancy was saying was kind of important and quickly dispelled my happy memories of Sam. I’ll spare you the details (this time), but there were two major things I took away from the conversation with my sage and wise old friend, Nancy.
One, Nancy was still acting slightly odd and suspicious. Or thought I was acting odd and suspicious which was making her suspicious. Or something. It just didn’t feel very comfortable. She didn’t say anything flat out like she did last time, but there was just this way about her. And the way she kept asking me in different ways if I was alright was, actually, quite disconcerting.
And, more immediately important to this saga of sex, friendship and betrayal (alright, maybe not “betrayal” but for you Hollywood folk out there, say it just like that to your boss, anyway), Nancy said this. She guessed that Ann was really, really bored. Which was why she might be interested in me (Ouch!). And yes, Nancy being Nancy said it exactly like that. So much for any delusions that I had developed into a physical babe-magnet since high school and that Ann was after my body. Nope, not a chance in hell of that, according to Nancy. However there was a bright side.
According to Nancy’s theory, Ann had lived a somewhat sheltered life which she may, or may not have, really enjoyed. To her, the fact that I had lived in Los Angeles and New York was a big deal. Which kind of made sense since she had never been to Los Angeles and only been to New York as a kid to see the Statue of Liberty and so forth. In addition, according to Nancy, the fact that I worked in advertising was a big deal and the fact that I had worked in Hollywood was huuuuge (she said it just like that, with the eeeeeeewge part). All of which seemed really pretty amazing to my little mind at first, because I knew what a cesspool of bullshit Hollywood really was. Of course, part of my little ego also thought it was even cooler of me to have done it and to have dismissed it as overrated. But that’s between you and me, OK? So, anyway, back to getting Ann naked, which was the point of our discussion lest you forget, Nancy said it was entirely possible if that’s what I really wanted.
It was that last part of the question that reminded me again of how strange she was acting. I mean, “if that’s what I really wanted?” What straight, healthy, American male wouldn’t want to get an incredibly attractive woman, like Ann, naked and in bed? Why wouldn’t I want that? I thought about asking Nancy exactly that but it seemed better to just let it go and get reassurance. Reassurance that I could, in fact, possibly end up playing Naked Romper Room with Ann.
And then we said “good-bye” and hung up. Alright, not quite that abruptly. But close. Awkwardly close. The whole thing with Nancy was just feeling weird. Maybe it was just keeping secrets from her that felt so wrong. Maybe it was the fact that she knew I was keeping secrets from her that felt so wrong. Maybe it’s just the fact that the older Animal had just come downstairs, said goodnight, and gave me a big hug that was freaking me out. I mean, for a poorly behaved little beast, he really could be rather cute. My world was turning upside down. What the hell was happening to me?
So, that night I laid in bed at My Mom’s, not naked, but very much alone and thinking about Nancy. Not the sort of thinking involving lots of skin and sweat and groans of pleasure kind of thinking. I mean, if that were the case, I probably would be naked and…Well, maybe not. There was something just too weird about that with your mother sleeping right down the hall. Anyway, as I was trying to say, I couldn’t sleep at all because of this thing with Nancy. I just so badly wanted to tell her everything. Talk to her about all my plans. All my fears. The fact that I was going to die soon. Fuck me. I couldn’t tell her and I knew I couldn’t. It would just be wrong. Then my talk of suicide would just be an ever-so-cliched “desperate cry for help.” And if I did it anyway, the people left behind would pay the price, not me. No, that would be selfish, even for me.
So, Dear Reader, in case you haven’t figured it out yet, that’s where you come in. You are the only one I can tell everything to. The only one I can still trust. The only one who I don’t have to hide any of the real ME from. In all my Technicolor Wonder. You lucky dog, you. Don’t you feel honored? Ready to put the book away and watch a nice Sit-Com, yet?
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