"He wasn't even hurt!"
"My God I'm so wet!"
Olympic Silver Medalist and Light-Welterweight Champion of the World--Amir Khan:
Whether it was thwarted blood lust or just unresolved curiosity that so disappointed Jules was hard to say, but it was obvious what excited and motivated Buttons. She’d clutched at her herself on every Cotto connect and bounced in her seat as Margarito shrugged off each punch and advanced. And when the fight was stopped, it was Buttons who seemed the most disappointed at being denied the opportunity to watch a man get beat unconscious.
“Oh my God I’m so wet!” she said to no one in particular as Jules felt up her dress in the cab to Chinatown.
“Jesus, she is Lodo--feel this!”
“Maybe later Jules.”
“Well what about you?” Jules asked the cabbie, “You wanna feel how wet my girlfriend is?”
The cabbie stole a glance at Button’s open legs in his rearview mirror.
“...I have to drive sir.”
“Course you do!” Jules exclaimed, “Just testing you Mohammed, you’re a good man!”
“Thank you sir,..but my name’s Habib.”
“You don’t have to thank m..”
Jules phone suddenly rang. One of his buddies from California. One of his Mexican buddies.
“What? No, man--no! He wasn’t even hurt. His eye was a little swollen--that’s it. He could’ve easily fought two, three more rounds. Christ, Buttons was just getting good and worked up too, you oughta feel her over here, right Mohammed? I mean...What?--no, I was talking to the cabbie. I told him he should feel Buttons’ box cause she’s hot as a hellcat, but I guess he’s gay or something...”
Jules. Freaking guy. What a pleasure it’ll be to take a cab to Chinatown, I’d thought when he first brought it up. Usually its the subway or bus for me; but a paid cab ride from midtown? That’s good living.
That is ‘til Jules insults the cabbie.
“Hey Moha--I mean, Habib, how come there aren’t any great Muslim boxers? There’s like a billion of you guys isn’t there? And you’re always fighting somebody. Seems like there should be some good fighters.”
“But there is sir. Amir Khan is world champion. From Pakistan--or actually, London; but he is Muslim sir. And world champion too.”
“Ahmeer Conn?” Jules asked his Mexican buddy over the phone. “You know who that is? ...Um hmmm. Hey Habib--my buddy here on the phone says that Amir Khan’s a faggot and that he punches like a girl. I hope that’s not true ‘cause I really like you brother.”
Yep, fun ride. But Jules paid for it. Plus he bought my food, three beers; and even gave me cash-money for the tickets--including mine. So no way around it, he and Buttons showed me a special night.
Next day we met at our usual pub to watch the Packers/Giants game. Buttons is originally from Wisconsin (you betcha!) and big into football, so her and Jules were already at the bar with drinks when I arrived.
Actually they’d had quite a few, which shouldn’t surprise you if you know anything about Wisconsin. Biggest lushes on the planet with the exception of the native Irish themselves. In fact, booze is serious business for Buttons. She doesn’t just pound the cocktails, she holds court at the bar. Chats everybody up and monitors their alcohol choices as they stare down her dress and consider their chances.
“You know what?” she asked a young couple seated next to me at the bar, “I like the way you guys drink. What are those?--Greyhounds?”
They both nodded in agreement.
“These two,” Buttons said to me as she gestured toward the couple,” have been here since we got here. And we haven’t slowed down yet!” she said as she reached across me to give them each a high-five. “Let me guess, you came here from church, right?”
Indeed they had. Course at this time Jules was outside on another of his super-numerous phone calls despite it being Sunday. We rarely talked more than 15 minutes at a time before he’d have to step outside to respond or make another call.
“What’s he do again?” I asked Buttons after Jules stepped-out for the the 3rd or 4th time.
“Who Jules?” she asked with a dismissive wave of her hand,”he’s always wheeling and dealing.”
“Wheeling and dealing what?”
Buttons just shrugged her shoulders as she watched the Packers drive downfield.
“I don’t know Lodo, you’re the investigator. Ask him.”
Um hmm. No offense reader, but I don’t think you need to be an investigator to find out what the guy you’re sleeping with does for a living. But God forbid Buttons should ask a follow-up question to someone paying her way!
Only later, when we were all outside smoking a joint did I get the chance to ask Jules.
A little like Jules (above): * NOTE: Due to the length of this post, I'm going to split it into at least one or two more parts--sorry!! Hope everyone had a great holiday and that 2012 proves to be your best year yet. Next part in a few days ya'll. And thanks again for reading!!
** ADD'L NOTE: All pics stolen off Google Images. Copyrights may exist. All pics are used simply to enhance the narrative. I've never met anyone depicted; nor do I know their real identity.
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