The Kings Of Cool

149

John takes a carpet cutter and methodically slashes the tires of the BMW.

Then he turns to Taylor and says, “ Now go.”

“That’s my car, ” she says.

A new silver 528i.

“I bought it for you,” John answers.

“That doesn’t mean you can just mutilate it.”

John shrugs-apparently it does. He bought the Beamer, he bought the Porsche 911 that sits next to it, bought the three-car garage that also holds the ’54 Plymouth wagon, bought the house on Moss Bay.

Cocaine been bery bery good to me.

“Now you’re just going to have to pay for new tires,” Taylor says.

Which means she isn’t leaving, John thinks with mixed feelings. She says she’s going to leave, she threatens to leave, she even starts to leave, but she doesn’t leave.

The coke is too good, the sex is too good, the house is too good. She’s not about to move back into some efficiency apartment in West Hollywood and blow producers for one-line roles on shitty TV shows.

John loves her in his own way, which is sort of detached.

She’s so fucking beautiful, will do anything in bed, looks good on his arm when they go out, and can actually be pretty nice when she doesn’t want to fight.

But the girl does like to fight.

John doesn’t know how this latest one started. He doesn’t even know what it’s about because she hasn’t told him yet. All he knows is that he came home from “surfing” with Bobby and she was waiting with a head of steam worked up.

“I have enough problems today,” John said, hoping to hold it off.

Nah “I want to talk about the ‘c’ word,” she snapped.

“‘Cunt’?” he asked.

Because he’s not a big believer in argument foreplay. Might as well just get into the fucking fight.

Yeah Next thing John knew, shit was flying around the kitchen like The Amityville Horror. When she figured she’d broken enough expensive glassware she went upstairs to pack. John stood in their bedroom doorway and watched her jam things into suitcases.

Dresses he bought her, shoes he bought her, jewelry he bought her.

Suitcases he bought her.

“This time you’re really leaving, right?” he asked.

“That’s right.”

She stormed down into the garage, and that’s when he slashed the tires.

Now she stands there looking at him.

God, she is fucking gorgeous, John thinks. He grabs her by the waist and sets her on the hood of the car. Spreads her legs, tears off her panties, and does her right there. Only thing that could have made it better is if he could have started the engine first.

He pulls out, tucks himself in, looks at her, and says, “Now I’ll have to get it detailed, too.”

She says, “I’m pregnant.”