Jewel and Paola are the
only Coogs left from the earlier group at Poblano’s. In between them sits Justin, a clean-cut
30-something guy, who is visibly loaded.
Paola
says, “So are you married, Justin?”
“Nah,
I'm too young.”
“Me too. I'll always be too young.”
“Y'know,
you're pretty hot looking for, what're you, fifty? Sixty?”
“How
dare you? A lady never tells her
age. But you're way off.“
“She’s pushing seventy,” Jewel fills in.
“Actually
I'm not quite seven. Didn't you see that
Science Channel documentary? Every ten
years, our bodies' cells are completely regenerated.”
“Sorry,
sweetheart, I'm not a pedophile, or a cougar-hunter. I'm just not that lubricated yet,” Justin
says, getting up. Jewel moves into his
seat.
Jewel
calls after him, “She's got lube issues,
too!”
“What
are you trying to do?” Paola grumbles.
“I don't see a problem with dating young men. They keep you fresh.”
“What
do you do, when your vaginal mesh implant comes out during sex?”
“It
only happened the one time. I told him
it was a fishnet diaphragm.”
“Well
that's my cue.” Jewel drains her drink, grabs her bag, but Paola holds
her down.
“But
it's just eleven-thirty!”
“We
got a match tomorrow. Swim and Racquet
Club. They're a lot better than us, even
when we're not hung over.”
“I
always play best if I get my protein.
And I've already spotted my prey,” Paola leers, eyeing Chris, who is
waiting at the bar for a drink order.
Chris winks at her.
Meanwhile, Justin sits down at the bar next to
Chris, and they share a secret “bro handshake".
“How
ya hangin', my man?” Chris asks.
“Hangin'
in the geriatric zone, enjoying my free buzz.
Hey, who's driving that smokin' red Ferrari, out there in the
handicapped spot?”
“You
were just sitting next to her,” Chris says.
Y’know it could be ours, for the evening. You into carbon dating?”
Chris
gestures over to Paola and Jewel, still arguing. Paola maintains a tight grip on her friend’s
elbow.
“You take
the younger one,” Chris says.
“Which
beast is that? That one standing
up? She's got a sub-sahara Africa thing
going on there. Think she was last
month's National Geographic centerfold,” Justin says.
“I
know, I know. But all we have to do is
slip the Golden Girls a little sleepy dust…” Chris holds up a small vial,
discreetly. “…and we got the rest of the
night to cruise South Beach in that sweet ride.”
Justin
looks outside, at the cherry-red Ferrari, then back at Chris, shakes his head
with smiling disbelief.
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