May The Best (wo)Man Win

Helmut Newton

July 20, 2010

Vindication, the combined feeling of relief and success; a long exhale after what feels like an eternity of holding your breath. It was simple and no one could say it better than she did. “You win.”

The past two months have been torturous, not knowing if things were up or down and not knowing if I would ever have an answer. The last thing he said to me was I love you; the words echo in my head and my heart. There is only one rule and I had broke it with ease… Then, it all came crashing down.

I have fantasies about seeing him again, what it would be like. I imagine seeing him, just like I did the first time, at the park outside the coffee shop. His denim jeans and grey t-shirt hugging his incredible body; me running my hands over every inch of him; tearing his clothes off and having all of him.

It had been a year since I saw one of my best girlfriends. We sat at Balthazar drinking wine and catching up. My phone vibrated against the wood of the bar, an email from The Editor. He wasn’t making any sense and would not answer my questions when I enquired further.

Hours later I finally rang his mobile then heard a click. “Chloe, this is The Wife. I know you are fucking my husband, stay the fuck out of our lives; he is in the hospital and the only person he wants to see is YOU.”

Saying nothing I hit the end button on my phone and placed it back on the bar. My girlfriend looked at me quizzically. We agreed it best to do nothing, after all what was there to do?

It was over, yet it had barely started. We had spent so many hours in bed, experiencing each other fully. He would kiss my lips and my neck, sending shivers down my back, running his hands over my body. The Editor always knew what to say to make me smile. I wanted to spend days in bed with him; he knew exactly how to touch me to bring me over the edge of pleasure.

For days there were threatening emails, text messages and pure harassment from The Wife and her girlfriends. As I said to her then, “You have every right to hate me and call me whatever names you want; I deserve whatever it is you are doing, but please I just want to know that he is ok.”

The Editor called me on a Wednesday when he came home from the hospital. I knew he wasn’t well and when we hung up I had a feeling I wouldn’t be speaking to him for a while. There were months of no communication, even after sending words of support.  Then one day I got a response; I had sent him a posting from the blog.

The response was not normal and I was suspicious. After a few back and forth messages I was sure. “Nice show ‘Wife’ but we both know The Editor doesn’t speak like that. To the unassuming eye you may fool people, but I know better.” I couldn’t believe she had been impersonating him for this long with out others catching on. Not only was she replying to me as him, she had been writing his content for the magazine while he was in rehab. well played madame.

That is when those two little words floated up on my screen, “You win” which were followed by, “He said you were clever.”

As hard as it is to lose him, knowing that a person like that exists is a beautiful thing. Knowing that someone can care for you so deeply and appreciate you for exactly who you are is fulfilling. Now, if I could only find that with someone who isn’t already taken, I’d be in business….

Circle of Friends

@ice.bust

May 3, 2010

Loyalty, a concept that is beyond lost. What used to be the foundation of any good relationship is now better suited to describe how one’s dog behaves. The night Ralph Lauren Guy came to New York, his friend alluded to just how un-loyal he was willing to be; I couldn’t wait to find out.

The sun poured down onto my shoulders, I could feel my tan deepening. It was just past 5PM on Monday and I polished off my third drink of the day as I strolled through SOHO en route to my weekly dinner date.

A few months back I had been enjoying my usual glass of Chablis at Balthazar when I made friends with this amazing 70-year-old man. A retired ad exec he is now pursuing his true calling as an author; dinning at Balthazar on Monday’s for inspiration. Since we met it has become a weekly tradition that I join.  

My phone buzzed on the bar and my friend laughed. He was always teasing me how I couldn’t go more than 2 seconds without getting some action on my mobile. It was Ralph Lauren Guy’s friend, lets call him The Friend. He was heading for dinner and wanted me to join. I laughed, why would I head to Brooklyn in this heat. He insisted, said he would have a car outside Balthazar in 10 to collect me. How could I refuse?

I touched up my lipstick as the car approached the famed Brooklyn steakhouse. I was barely in the door and The Friend had placed a glass of wine in my hand and an arm around my waist. We stood amongst his other beautiful friends laughing and drinking until we were ready to dine.

Throughout dinner he had his hand on my leg, his grip firm. I could tell he was aching to get me home and have his way with me. I sat with his hand pressed into my skin but could not help eying his friend across the table.

He was there with a date and it was clear that he would be going home with her, just as I would be going home with The Friend. Throughout dinner we expertly played our roles as objects-of-desire to our respective dates, but we both kept eyes locked on each other.

Post dinner drinks at the bar had us all rather smashed and I walked towards the bathroom in pursuit of The Friend’s friend. We stood inches away from each other; the electricity between us was insane. I wanted him to push me against the wall, kiss me hard, slide his hands over my breasts and lick my neck. I wanted to feel how turned on I had him. 

Instead we stood there, barely speaking; it was clear what we both wanted. The Friend approached, asked if I was ready to leave; I smiled and nodded. As we headed for the door I slipped The Friend’s friend my number, gently sliding the piece of paper into his pocket as I kissed his cheek goodbye.

I couldn’t wait to see what The Friend had in store for me and I hoped that I wouldn’t have to wait to get to his place to find out.

Caught Empty Handed

April 21, 2010

In this game called life there are rules. When you break those rules you must heed the consequences, even if you haven’t done anything wrong. Yet. 

After a meeting at The Core Club with a very dear friend, we stood outside and I took a hit from the joint we were sharing. I love the way a couple hits just relaxes my entire body. We strolled down Park Avenue heading to Monkey Bar for a much-desired cocktail.

Just as the last bit of Belvedere hit my tongue it was time to leave. With no real plans I decided to head to Balthazar, my go-to-spot, to see if someone wanted to buy me dinner.

I sat at the bar sipping Chablis; considering it was 9PM there were loads of geriatrics still kicking around. When I grew tired of avoiding the way-too-old men who continuously tried to invoke conversation, I spotted an opening beside a handsome suit near the end of the bar. Chablis in hand I strolled over and sat down next to him.

Finance Guy was well styled, in a sharp pinstripe suit that was cut to perfection. I would have expected nothing less from someone in his field who is hip enough to live in SOHO and savvy enough to still have his job (it was 2009). Drinks and food flowed, along with our witty banter. I couldn’t help but notice the very shiny ring on a certain finger.

How is it that a married man was able to go out alone on a weeknight? To say the least I was impressed; the married men I see can barely check their mobiles with out fear of getting caught, let alone pick-up girls on a random Tuesday! Turns out he was much less impressive than I had imagined. His wife was out with her girlfriend; he was supposed to be in France but due to a certain volcanic ash incident, he found himself at dinner with me. Ever the gentleman, he insisted on buying my dinner and then suggested we go to The Crosby for some bubbly.

The bartender topped up our second glass of fizz; his knee was beginning to accidentally graze mine as the alcohol worked its way into our systems. All of a sudden, a look of sheer panic struck his face, “my wife, that’s my wife…” An angry brunette was charging towards us. It was almost more than I could handle.

“What is going on here,” she demanded, staring back and forth not sure which one of us to take her rage out on.  

I reached over and extended my hand, “You must be Finance Guy’s wife, I have heard so much about you, I’m Chloe”. I smiled and she shot me a look of death before announcing to whoever would listen that THEY were leaving. Finance Guy, now white as a ghost, threw down money for our drinks and proceeded to be dragged into the night.

The entire thing was simply too much; I couldn’t help but laugh. With two half empty flutes in front of me there was only one thing to do. I downed mine, followed by his. It seemed to me that a certain financier would most definitely be sleeping on the couch.