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Chapter 30/Page 12 |
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Dear Diary: It’s Monday and I’m sick as a fucking dog. I hate Mexico. I will never drink another Margartia as long as I live. The girlfriend wasn’t very sympathetic, but then again, it’s my own damn fault. Dear Diary: My Tuesday visit to the doctor went well. His professional opinion is that I need to take a big shit. Eight years of college for that? Turns out he was right. Dear Diary: Wednesday and I feel much better. Work sucks as usual, but a night with my baby will make up for my pain and suffering. We spent the night just holding each other.
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Thursday, I was back to my old self. Mexico called a cease-fire in my intestines. I slipped out of 4’s apartment that morning and drove her car to my place for a shower and change of clothes. It was one of those five beautiful sunny days that remind you why you live in California. On the way back to her apartment, I took special notice of the intersection at Beverly Glen and Sunset, where her street touched mine. I loved that corner, too. All the way down Sunset, the morning sun danced and glistened on the automatic sprinklers dousing Beverly Hills lawns. 4 looked radiant when I got back to her place. We kissed tenderly in the stairway before parting. “Lunch today?” “Yeah. Noon?” “Noon, it is, “ I said, following it up with a “love you madly.” She smiled and went to start her workday. “How’s the happy couple?” The owner of our sandwich shop said loudly when we walked in. We didn’t even bother with menus anymore. We just took a seat and waited for our food. 4 stared out the window somewhat quiet and distracted. Her job was getting to her. The owner set our sandwiches down on the table and patted me on the back. “Enjoy, you lucky guy.” I smiled at 4, thinking that I was indeed a lucky guy. She was so beautiful. Life was so beautiful. I was, dare I say it again, so deliriously happy. As I picked up my sandwich, she looked at the ceiling and said four words. “We need to talk.”
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