If you haven’t dropped by Storytellers Unplugged lately (or at all), Jeff Mariotte has a nice one up today, and I did a little thing yesterday about, uh, serial killers and vampires and monkeys and their Juicy Juice.
At the club Les Deux last night — I seriously don’t know how I keep ending up at these places, I never quite intend to, I put the kids to bed and settle down for the evening and the phone rings or a text message arrives and the night bends in a whole other direction — I was watching my Notorious Neighbor sort through his options. He brought one young woman over to our table but later changed his mind. “She’s definitely cute, but she has cankles and there’s something a bit too white-trash about her.”
“Cankles?” I said. “Cankles?”
“Cankles really, really bother me.”
I looked at him a moment, then said, “Why do I like you so much when I despise so much of what you stand for?”
“Because I’m honest about it!”
There’s a lot more to it but yes, he is that. No one could accuse him of misleading women. He doesn’t conceal his intentions. He doesn’t even bother to dress them up with romantic dinners. But then again, men like him don’t have to — they just have to put themselves on offer and see who closes the deal. It’s not like women can’t resist him (many can) or that they don’t say no (many do). But NN just shrugs the rejections aside. He knows that he’ll get to the yes.
He is friends with a young actress beloved by the tabloids. Her name came up — “I should send her your book to read,” he said, “since she’ll have nothing else to do” — and I asked him what triggered her recent decision to go into rehab. I’d heard somewhere that a certain trust fund clown whom I have total contempt for had helped persuade her to do this, and I was dubious.
NN snorted and said, “It’s strictly for work. The insurance company told her that if she doesn’t go to rehab they’ll refuse to bond her and so no studio will hire her.”