"Lodo, Lodo, Lodo, Lodo..."
"Amir Khan,..you hear?"
Recall my intention in going to _____ was simply to say goodbye to Buttons in person and maybe thank Jules again for the Cotto ticket. Then I was gonna be on my way.
But time became convoluted once I got inside: the oddness of Danny behind the rich oak bar; the unexpected smile of recognition; yet another free cocktail to sip as I followed my stylish hostess through the burgundy, candle-lit room. My ice-cold mood was in such polar opposition to the warm atmosphere of the place that the windshield of my perceptions got all fogged-up.
Or maybe it was just the booze.
Buttons was alone at the table since Jules was apparently outside on another phone call.
“You didn’t pass him on the way in?” she asked.
“Nope.”
“Well whatever--look! We’ve got wine. And oysters!”
Buttons grabbed the magnum of red wine and bounced happily in her seat as she reached for my glass.
“Oh no Buttons, the bartender gave me...”
But Buttons shook her head in protest as she poured me a glass and gestured for me to sit next to her on the leather bench.
“You’re gonna wanna drink this Lodo--trust me.”
“Well maybe, but listen..”
“Ah--ah! You haven’t had an oyster yet. Come on sweetie, we’ve got two-dozen here. They’re delicious--and they make you hard. I know you like that honeybunch. I know I like it.”
Buttons was very drunk. She hand-fed me an oyster with one hand and reached under the table with her other to rub my junk.
“Lodo, Lodo, Lodo, Lodo...” she whispered in my ear with glazed eyes as she continued to rub my inseam. “We love you so much.”
Buttons fed me more oysters--one after the other. Then there were big Tiger shrimp. Then chunks of fresh white crab meat. Then Alaskan King Crab legs. We laughed. Felt each other up in the cocoon of our booth. Drank wine. By the time Jules showed up I’d lost a lot of my edge.
“What’s up brother?!” he yelled when he saw me, “You meet my man Danny?”
“Uh, yeah Jules.,” I said somewhat hesitantly, “What about that? Did you know that gu...”
“Listen Lodo, I really appreciate your getting ‘em on the phone for me. I had to go run that errand with Buttons, but you were able to just go right in there and..put ‘em on the phone. And that’s great. So anything you want tonight brother ‘cause all my business went through.”
Jules gave my shoulder an eager clasp as Buttons ran her fingernails up and down my leg. I finished the rest of the oysters. Jules ordered more wine and then we got entrees. Veal for Jules. Chilean Sea Bass for Buttons. (heavy sigh). I ate crazy stuff like a pheasant under glass and two different kinds of creme brulee for desert. Stuff I’d never expected to eat when I woke up that AM. It was a special meal. I even began to enjoy Jules’ company a little bit. I got an education of sorts.
“I mean, if Ron Paul were to win he says he’d just legalize weed outright,” Jules said loud enough for the adjacent tables to hear. “And part of me’s thinking--'Yeah, of course, exactly right. No way anyone should go to jail for weed. But then I’m thinking, 'but wait? Does that even help me? I’m better off when its illegal. Keeps my price up and a lot of pussies out of the game. Make weed legal and what d’ya need me for? There’d be too much product out there. I’m sitting on pounds of stuff I can’t move already. Products not the problem. Everyone’s got product. The problem’s distribution. I’ve got good pilots, but I need someone who can driv...”
“No! (burp) No. No, no,” Buttons suddenly interjected as she vigorously shook her head.
“What?” Jules asked, “We’re just talking.”
But Buttons continued to protest. She said the room was spinning and insisted we had to go. I don’t know if it was a ruse, but I loved her for that since I really didn’t want to have to tell Jules I couldn’t drive for him ‘til the bill was paid.
But Jules paid. Laid at least three, $100 dollar bills down on the table. Jules always used cash (the only time I ever saw that credit card of his was at the will-call window of The Garden). We got outside the restaurant and things really were spinning. Least for me. Like an idiot I'd downed that last Johnny before we left, and despite the rich meal, I nearly stumbled into the street.
“Come on,” said Buttons, “you’ll go to the hotel with us.”
I can’t recall my response, I just remember being inside the cab.
“Where to Sir?” the cabbie asked as Jules slammed his door shut.
“The Pennsylvania. Herald Square.”
“Hotel Pennsylvania? Yes sir,” the cabbie said as he set the meter and we began to roll from the curb.
“Hey Habib there,” Jules said with a hard rap of his knuckles on the cab’s dividing glass, “you know how many miles i...”
The taxi screeched to an abrupt stop and the cabbie engaged Jules’s eyes via the rear-view mirror.
“Sir my name’s Mohammed. Why you call me Habib?”
“What?” Jules asked, genuinely hard of hearing. And drunk.
“My name is Mohammed, sir. See? (here he pointed towards his picture I.D. posted on the interior glass). “My name is not Habib. Perhaps you have me confused with someone else?”
“...Well, yeah,” Jules answered, “fact is, our last cabbie was named Habib.”
“Okay, but that was not me sir, correct? We're not all the same person.”
Jules and the cabbie locked eyes.
“...Correct. Alright, man. Listen Amir Khan, okay? Amir Khan.”
“Amir Khan?” the cabbie asked, What’s that? That’s something?”
“Yeah, man, that’s your guy, right? Amir Khan--that means cool out, everything’s cool.”
“It does, sir? I didn’t know that.”
“Well it does. So Amir Khan,...alright brother?”
* NOTE: Due to the length of this post, I'm gonna split it into another few parts. (heavy sigh). Whatever! See you in a few days. And thanks for reading!
** NOTE: All pics stolen off Google Images. Copyrights may exist.
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