by Carrie
Diary of A Rich Girl – Chapter 22
I was annoyed with Little John for being so brusque with me. I thought it was understood that I was special, at least that’s how he treated me the first night when, against my will, I allowed him to that particular thing with me. I thought I had made it clear to him that I wasn’t that kind of girl.
Finally, after bothering me for a week, I decided to return his call just to let him know how I felt. I agreed to visit him after work to talk things over. I also had lost my Palm Pilot that night. I had a feeling it fell out of my bag while I was at that vacant service station — on that couch. Little John, more polite than usual, promised he’d look into it for me. He also mentioned that the john had been asking for me. That was when I hung up.
It was a lovely evening. I had on a tight white T-shirt, low-rise jeans to show a little belly, and a pair of heeled black strapped sandals. I knew I was looking good. All the men zeroed in on my good breasts tight against my T-shirt. Others hitched their stares to my bottom as I strut my long legs down the streets of New York in search of a cab. In fact, there are as much women as men who stared at me.
Little John’s apartment is a 19th century walkup in Chelsea. The street is cozy old New York. Well heeled shipping merchants were among the original inhabitants. Today, artists and many more pseudo artists, professionals, and I suppose characters like Little John inhabit the neighborhood. He buzzed me up and I walked up the old narrow wooden stairway. A guy with a guitar on his back came down and nearly knocked me over. His hair was spiked and he wore a motorcycle jacket – – a tough guy.
Little John had left the door of his apartment partly open. I was hesitant to go in. Then I remembered friends of mine in the neighborhood often did that if they were busy and felt secure about the people in their building. I put my hand on the door knob and gently opened it. I didn’t see anyone. I walked in and called for him. I took several steps and noticed that the bedroom door was ajar. A naked woman with a shock of blonde hair passed through the open space. A man got up off the bed and started to get dressed. He noticed me and looked off to his side. Little John stepped in the doorway.
“My, my, look what the wind brought in.” He stood there dressed in a black knitted Italian T-shirt tucked into a pair of expensive black trousers. A black alligator belt cinched his waist. He looked sleek and cool, a man of means and class, not that he had any, but he knew how to act the part and that, I suppose, is 90 percent of being anything, good or bad.
He checked me out. He loved my body and smiled as he made his survey then said, “You look better then all the jewels in Harry Winston’s window. I said, “Buy me some and we’ll see.” He liked that and laughed. The blonde with the shock of hair stood in the doorway alongside Little John. She had lovely tits, low slung and full like mine with nice good nipples. Shorter than I, a lot shorter, but still good looking and she knew it. Then I recognized her. She lived in my neighborhood. I had first seen her in the park with Little John. She’s an assistant curator at the Met when not moonlighting for L.J.
She checked me over and in response to Little John said, “She’s not bad,” and walked out and made herself a drink at the wet bar and got dressed. I followed Little John into the living room. Two guys were waiting on a couch. Music, I think Miles Davis, was coming out of somewhere. Little John said, “This is Caroline.” They were halfway out of their seats when he said, “One at a time, fellas.” I didn’t like that. I came over to pick up my Palm Pilot, not to play games. A voice drifted from down the hallway. It was the blonde’s. “I’ll see you Thursday…Nice to meet you Caroline…say hello next time you’re in the museum.” I thought I heard a little chuckle in parenthesis.
I didn’t answer her, but turned my attention to Little John, “You met her in the park, too?” He smiled that fat smile of his. I looked at the drooling guys and walked out of the room. I was pissed. Little John followed, “You still upset the way you think I treated you?”
I said, “You know how you treated me. What are you doing with her?” He laughed, “I told you. I met her in the park.” I asked, “I suppose you have some magic with white girls? Is that it?” He said, “I got lots of magic. The fella in there with the dark suit, he’s the filmmaker I told you about.” I asked, “Who’s the other pretender?” L.J laughed and said, “Oh, That’s Alvin. He’s one of the local boys, got a lot of talent.” I asked, “What kind of talent?”
L.J put a on a serious face and said, “Carrie, I swear, that boy can act. He done Shakespeare.” I wondered, “Where? The Globe?” He had no idea what I meant, “As a matter of fact, it was the Globe. ” I took a gander into the other room. Alvin was in a pair of hip-hop baggies, a too big red Yankee’s baseball hat with a do-rag underneath. The hat had one of those super flat beaks, which he’d probably cut your fingers off if you dared to shape it. The rest of him was weighed down with about 40 pounds of gold chains and a three inch dangling Madonna cross. I figured the closest he ever got to reading Henry the IV part 1, let alone part 2, was probably coming out of the subway by the main reading library on 42nd St. and 5th.
I said to Little John, ” Let me hear him do a soliloquy.” L.J. said, ” He does, then you’ll audition with him?” I looked at L.J. long and hard and said, ” Sure, we’ll do Macbeth; the funny version. Meanwhile, I have a dinner date.” I left the nascent theater club and headed back uptown.
